


Forget Me, Not

by fae0412



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Female d’Artagnan, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22474762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fae0412/pseuds/fae0412
Summary: Young Charlotte d'Artagnan was traveling with her father when bandits ambushed them. Unluckily, the king and queen of France also happened to be traveling upon that same road. The leader of the bandits, a man claiming to be Athos of the King's Musketeers, killed her father while she was busy defending the monarchs. The timely arrival of the king's men assured their safety, and Charlotte's quick thinking and skill with a sword earned her the regard and gratitude of the royal couple. Now, she embarks on a journey to avenge her father's death and convince her Uncle Jean-Armand, also known as Captain de Treville of the Musketeers, to let her join his regiment.Another female d'Artagnan story with a twist! Everyone knows she's a girl already!
Relationships: d'Artagnan/Athos | Comte de la Fère
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

“Charlotte!” she heard her father cry as the sound of crunching leaves and breaking branches surrounded them. 

She turned and saw five men run at her from both sides, knocking her off her horse. Landing lightly, she rolled into the fall, standing with the momentum and drawing her sword in a fluid moment. With a swift slash, she cut two men down, slicing expertly across their chests. She parried with a third, drawing a dagger to stab a fourth. The element of surprise served her well, but it did not last. 

As she raised her eyes to gauge the situation around her, she noticed at least another dozen men surrounding her and her father. An additional five men, all dressed in guard’s uniforms, circled the carriage they were crossing paths with right before the ambush, with two bandits pulling out the two passengers. She heard a voice from within the carriage, shouting in outrage at the rough treatment. Her eyes searched for her father, wincing when she saw him in a similar position but with a large cut on his forehead. 

“Alright?” he asked her, nodding as he also held his sword and dagger. 

Her nod allowed them to focus on their opponents. Both their eyes widened when the King of France exited the carriage. 

“What do you want?” demanded the king.

“Well, your majesty,” mocked the bandit, “We originally intended to rob you and these travelers” he nodded at the d’Artagnan and her father, “but it seems we stumbled upon a much more valuable bounty!”

“Our guards and Musketeers will find and defend us!” exclaimed the queen, glaring. The bandit smirked and approached her, intending to grab her face cruelly until the king stood in front of his wife.

“I am Athos of the Musketeers,” he stated, “And we can easily take on your guards, if they were here” he smirked nastily.

“Get away from them!” yelled Charlotte, bashing the swords in front of her away.

The bandit looked at her, then sneered. 

“A little girl playing dress-up!” his men laughed, “You should put that down before you hurt yourself, little girl.” 

As he approached her, she grunted out in effort before attacking him. Her movement forward propelled her to the side of the king and queen. 

“Stay behind me!” she ordered, fending off attacks.

Suddenly, they heard the pounding of hooves and yells. Charlotte renewed her attack, defending the monarchs with the knowledge help was on the way. She glanced at her father, seeing him making his way toward her. As she engaged and cut down three men, ten men on horseback can into view, galloping toward their group. She hesitated for a second, trying to assess the situation when her father groaned in pain.

She wiped around and saw ‘Athos’ withdraw a dagger from her father’s back, blood glistening on the blade and leaking down onto the road. He kneeled, coughing, and managed to slash at another distracted bandit. 

“No! Father!” she cried out. She yearned to rush toward him, but she maintained her post, guarding the king and queen. As the armored men reached them and engaged the bandits, she dispatched her current opponents, waiting for a guard to take over protecting the monarchs before rushing to her father’s side.

“Char…l…” her father mumbled, eyes drifting closed.

“No, father, please, keep your eyes open,” she moved him forward to examine the wound, tears filling her eyes when she saw the placement, “We can, we can fix this! A doctor, I need a doctor!” she yelled at the men around as the fighting died down.

“Mademoiselle, we do not have a doctor with us,” said a man as he kneeled next to her, gingerly touching her shoulder.

“Charlotte!” she heard a soft gasp, looking up to see her Uncle Jean, the Captain of the Musketeers. 

“Uncle Jean,” tears leaked out of her eyes, “The bandits, the leader, he stabbed Father from behind,” she squeezed her eyes shut as she felt her father get heavier in her arms.

“We are too far away from a doctor, Charlotte,” whispered Treville, trying to draw her away from her dying father.

“No! Do something, please, please!” she cried, holding Alexander closer to her.

“I am proud of you,” whispered her father, closing his eyes. His body went limp. 

Charlotte began crying in earnest, sobbing and clutching him tightly.

“Come here, my girl,” Treville grabbed her lightly, turning her and curling her into his arms. 

Another soldier removed her hands from her father’s body, lifting it away from her. Her crying continued, hands clutching desperately at her uncle. 

“Why, why, why, why, why!” she cried. Her uncle shook her slightly and she lifted her eyes to see the queen kneel in front of her, her husband behind her hazing at d’Artagnan with sad eyes. 

“I am so sorry for your loss,” said the queen, reaching out to squeeze Charlotte’s hands, “Your father seemed like a brave man.”

“The bravest,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

“His bravery will be remembered,” added the king, nodding awkwardly at the crying girl. The queen smiled at him kindly, turning back to the girl.

“We will give him a funeral befitting a defender of the king and queen of France,” she promised, “We would not be here without both your bravery.”

“Thank you,” mumbled Charlotte. She sniffled, wiping down her face with her hands, “May I make a request?” She raised her head, looking at the queen in the eye.

“Of course, anything you need,” answered the queen.

“The leader of the bandits,” Charlotte’s eyes turned to steel, “Help me find him?”

“Of course!” exclaimed the king, turning to the men around them, “They will not get away with this treasonous act!”

“The leader, he said he was a Musketeer,” Charlotte turned to look her uncle, “He said his name was Athos.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Athos?” at the name, Treville looked at his niece in shock, “That’s not possible.”

“How can you be sure?” asked the king, looking down at the two.

“Because, your majesty,” answered another voice, stepping forward from the group as Treville and d’Artagnan stood, “I am Athos, and I have been with Treville since this morning.”

At Treville’s nod, Charlotte turned to look at this ‘Athos.’ His blue eyes looked as hard as steel, glinting fiercely at her. He had two others with him. The tallest of the three frowned at the accusation against his friend, standing protectively at the shoulder of Athos. The second man, who seemed much more carefree and unworried, added, “And he was with us before that!”

“So, no, mademoiselle,” added Athos, “I was not the man who attacked your party,” he looked down at the body that was moved to the side, “And I certainly did not kill your father. You’re after the wrong man.”

“But why would the man claim your name, then?” asked the king, staring at them in confusion.

“So, he receives the blame?” asked the queen, taking her husband’s elbow gently.

“Or so the Musketeers get the blame?” suggested Treville, scowling at the thought.

“Gentlemen,” interrupted the handsome, carefree musketeers, “And ladies,” he smirked and waved his hand, bowing in an exaggeratedly gallant way, “It seems out best course of action is to find the men responsible and ask them. Agreed?”

“No, Aramis,” interrupted Treville, nodding at the rest of the men to instruct they prepare for the journey back. One brought his horse, which he gripped, while others began to lead the monarchs to their carriage, “First we go back to the palace.”

“But then,” interrupted Charlotte, pulling her uncle back to look at her before he lifted himself onto his horse, “Then we find the men responsible.”

“We?” asked Athos, raising his eyebrows in surprise. Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him, walking to her horse nearby and swinging onto it.

“Yes, we,” she snapped, “As the leader of this group murdered my father,” she paused briefly, “I am entitled to avenge him, and the king has granted his permission and assistance,” she narrowed her eyes at the three on the floor, “I do not need your approval or assistance.”

“Charlotte,” called back her uncle, “Enough. Let’s go, no one will rob you of your claim, but let’s move.” He shook his head and barked “Leave it!” at the three when they stared at him incredulously. And so, the group traveled back to the Louvre Palace.

As the party pulled into the entrance of the palace courtyard, passing the gates and stopping at the steps leading into the grand building, the Musketeers dismounted. Treville began shouting out instructions, beckoning Charlotte to his side amidst the flurry of movement. 

“Charlotte,” interrupted the queen, “Walk with me.” She held out her hand to the other girl.

Charlotte turned to look at her uncle, who nodded. She walked up to the queen, standing awkwardly with her hand slightly out, not sure what to do. The queen smiled kindly, reaching down to grab Charlotte’s hand and squeezing it.

“Do you have a place to stay?” 

“Umm,” Charlotte turned to look at her uncle, “We usually stay with my uncle.”

“She stays with me, when she visits,” offered Treville.

“Her uncle?” asked the large man from before. Charlotte saw Athos, Aramis, and the larger man standing behind Treville.

“Yes, Porthos, I am her uncle,” sighed Treville.

“By… blood?” asked Aramis nosily.

“Don’t you have something to do?” asked Charlotte, narrowing her eyes at them again.

“Never mind, I can see the resemblance now,” mumbled Aramis, stepping back. 

“Oh good,” added the king, “You have someone you know in the city then.” 

“But,” continued the queen, looking at Charlotte in concern, “What about when Treville is busy? He has many duties.”

“I have a friend,” mumbled Charlotte, looking down, “Constance Bonacieux, her husband is a cloth merchant in the city.”

“Will you go see this Madame Bonacieux? Surely Charlotte would like to have a friend in this trying time,” at the Captain’s nod, she then turned to the young girl, “Will you dine with us tonight? I would like to get to know our savior a bit better.”

Charlotte’s eyes grew wide, “Oh, your majesty, I am honored, but I am filthy, I shouldn’t…”

“What a wonderful idea!” exclaimed the king, moving to clap Treville on the shoulder, “You should join us as well, Treville! We shall learn all there is to know about your fierce, sword-wielding niece!” the king turned and jovially walked into the palace.

“Don’t worry,” said the queen kindly, tugging the girl along as she followed her husband, “I will assign you servants to help you bathe…”

As the queen continued and guided her into the palace, Charlotte turned one last, desperate look at her uncle before she also disappeared into the palace.

“Damn,” whispered Treville, “Just what I needed, a royal dinner party.” He sighed and turned to look at the three men next to him. “This isn’t the first group to claim your name in a crime, Athos. Someone is trying to frame you.”

“And the Musketeers as a whole,” said Aramis, “The bandits all wore our uniforms.”

“Yes,” Treville faced at the forest behind the palace, staring intently, “Which concerns me greatly. I also have not heard from Cornet. He should have returned from his mission two days ago.”

The three men looked at each, each hearing the unspoken words from their captain. 

“Tomorrow, bring Constance Bonacieux to the barracks, first thing. Charlotte will need a friend while she mourns for her father,” ordered the Captain, “Then we can make a plan to find out what happened to Cornet.” 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

“That was eventful!” came the jovial comment from Aramis, “I had fun!” 

“You have too much fun,” said Athos, frowning at his friend.

“He has to!” added Porthos, throwing an arm over the other two, “He has to make up for your grumpy ass!” He laughed.

They reached a house, knocking. A beautiful woman with curly-haired opened the door.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Constance Bonacieux?” asked Athos.

“Yes?” her eyebrow raised, “And you are?”

“Delighted to meet you, Madame! You are a lovely…” began Aramis.

“Aramis,” scolded Athos, “We were instructed to bring you to Muketeers’ garrison tomorrow.”

“The garrison?” she asked, voice rising in surprise, “Why?”

“Maybe we should come in, explain everything?” suggested Porthos, “We’re in a hurry you see, that Charlotte girl and Treville are still at the palace…”

“Charlotte?” interrupted Constance, “Charlotte d’Artagnan? Is she alright? What is she doing at the palace?”

The three men looked at each other. “We better come inside and explain.” 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

“Do you think it’s connected, then?” asked Charlotte. A servant was dressing her in a fancy dress behind a screen, while her uncle stood in their borrowed quarters. She thought she heard him pacing.

“What?” he stopped, his thoughts interrupted by her question. 

“Do you think it’s connected? Father’s death and the disappearance of this Cornet?” she poked her head out from behind the screen, “And the link that ties them together is an attempt to frame the Musketeers? Ow!” She turned back to the servant as she tightened the ties on the corset of the dress.

“You shouldn’t be eavesdropping on conversations, Charlette, it’s unbecoming,” reprimanded Treville, sighing. 

“Of what? A proper young lady?” a final tug on her waist secured the corset, “Bit late for that, don’t you think?” the servant passed the dress over her head, applying the finishing touches, “I did just save the king and queen from bandits using a sword. Any attempt at lady-like behavior flew out the window after that, I think.”

Treville smiled fondly when she stepped out from behind the screen, “At least you look the part now, Charlie,” he held out a hand to her, “You look lovely.”

“Yeah, better be worth the pretty picture, cause I can’t bloody breathe,” she complained, taking his hand and laying her own at her waist in an attempt to help her take a breath, “I hate dresses. I draw the line at the hair, I’m leaving it in a braid.”

“I do think it’s connected,” he admitted, returning to their previous conversation and walking with her to the dining hall. She admired the paintings and finery of the palace as they walked. Slyly, she turned to look at her uncle thoughtfully.

“You’ll send those three Musketeers to find out what happened to Cornet?” she asked, gauging his reaction.

“Probably,” he narrowed his eyes at her studious expression, “Is there something you’d like to say?”

“Will you let me go with them?” she pressed.

“Go… with them? To find Cornet?” his voice held a note of disbelief, “Of course not!”

“Because I’m a girl?” she frowned.

“No, because you’re not a Musketeer!” he snapped back. She pressed her lips firmly together in anger.

“Yet” she snapped back. He turned and stared at her incredulously, preparing to argue when the doors opened.

“Ah, Treville,” there stood Cardinal Arman Richelieu, “And your dear niece who the king was just telling me all about!” The cardinal gently grabbed Charlotte’s hand and lifted it to place a small kiss on it, “I am delighted to meet the savior of our dear king and his wife. It is a pleasure, mademoiselle.”

Charlotte stood frozen, mouth slightly gaping at seeing the most powerful man in France in front of her. Both her father and uncle warned her about the cardinal’s influence, ruthlessness, and intelligence. She regained her wits and offered a slight bow, bending at her waist.

“Monsieur, the pleasure is mine. You must be Cardinal Richelieu?” at his nod, she smiled, “I have heard about you from my uncle and my… my father,” she stumbled slightly when she mentioned her deceased father, smiling sadly. 

“Oh, I am very sorry for your loss, dear girl,” the cardinal maneuvered her hand onto the crook of his elbow, “But rest assured, as befitting a great Musketeer and a protector of the king, he shall receive a grand funeral, with the highest respect paid to him.”

“He shall?” she asked, turning to look at her uncle, who nodded.

“The king and cardinal graciously offered to host the funeral at the palace,” he explained. 

Tears burned her eyes. Charlotte raised a hand to hide them and brush them away, but a gentle hand stopped her. She looked up to face the queen.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly as she fought tears.

“It is the very least we can do, my dear,” said the cardinal, relinquishing his hold on her and crossing the room, taking a seat to the right of the king. 

The queen smiled, leading Charlotte to a long table. While the queen sat to the left of the king, she motioned to the seat at her side.

“Will you sit with me?” at Charlotte’s smile and nod, the two sat. Treville took his own seat next to his niece, and the servants began dispersing the food.

“Now, I am dying to know,” began the king, “How did a common peasant girl learn to use a sword?”

Charlotte swallowed her bite of food to avoid chocking at his indelicate and bold question. The queen sighed, gently holding Charlotte’s hand in solidarity.

“I too am curious,” added the cardinal, throwing a raised eyebrow at Treville, “And how you came to know Treville, as I know he has no siblings.”

“My father is…” again, a large knot formed in her throat, preventing her from continuing briefly. Thankfully, the tears stayed back. “He was, rather, a Musketeer. He and Uncle Jean served together for many years.”

“I was there for Charlotte’s birth and baptism, all through her childhood,” added Treville, “She and Alexander, her father, would visit me frequently here in Paris, and in turn, I would visit whenever I had the time to spare.” He paused, also overcome with grief briefly, “He was my brother in all but blood. I loved him dearly and love his daughter as my own.” He turned to look at Charlotte, smiling sadly at her.

“Oh! A brotherhood forged through soldiering! Swordsmanship runs in your blood! No wonder you are so talented!” praised the king.

“So, Mademoiselle d’Artagnan inherited her father’s skill with the sword,” concluded the cardinal, “And you indulged her?” he asked Treville.

“I didn’t give either of them a choice,” admitted Charlotte, blushing slightly, “I was an adventurous and mischievous child, finding trouble everywhere. My poor mother, before she passed, worried I would never settle into the role of a young French woman. Most girls my age ran the other way when they saw me coming. When she died, Papa was lost on how to raise a daughter. Uncle Treville was not much help,” she side-eyed him at that, grinning when coughed the wine he was drinking, “I think they gave up. My stubbornness on wanting to learn won out in the end.”

“I can thank you for raising such a fine defender, then, Captain Treville,” added the queen, smiling and raising her goblet of wine, “I will toast to your skill as a teacher and Charlotte’s skill with a blade!” 

As the table raised their goblets to toast her, Charlotte had the odd sensation of being watched, turning to the side in an attempt to find a pair of eyes. She raised her own goblet, smiling back at the queen but feeling goosebumps raise on the back of her neck.


	3. Chapter 3

Charlotte opened her eyes, wincing as the sunlight temporarily blinded her. Her head pounded, making her severely regret her decisions from the night before. She looked to the side, expecting to see Constance looking as miserable as her and disappointed to see her friend laughing at her expression as she walked in, fully dressed and with a jump to her step, carrying a bucket of water. 

“Aren’t you a cheerful ray of sunshine this morning?” she teased Charlotte, who huffed and pulled her pillow over her head. 

“Murder me, please,” complained Charlotte.

“I wonder what’s making your head hurt more,” began Constance, walking up to her friend and sitting on the bed next to her, “The wine, or the knock to the head you got?”

“I don’t remember getting hit…” mumbled Charlotte, “Well, not on the head, anyway.”

“Yes, I’m not surprised that one got lost among all the others in your memory,” Constance rolled her eye, “Next time don’t antagonize the other patrons, yeah?”

“They antagonized me!” argued Charlotte, peeking out from under the pillow to glare at her friend, “They said I cheated at cards! Just because they lost to a girl!”

“And did you?” asked Constance.

“Cheat?! Of course not! Constance!” Charlotte’s outraged face made Constance burst into laughter.

“Calm down! I know you didn’t,” she rose from the bed and went to open the window fully, “I was just trying to get you to wake up a bit more.”

“Ugh,” Charlotte landed heavily on her back and rubbed her eyes, “Why?”

“Your uncle wants to see you,” said Constance.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than act as his errand girl,” mumbled Charlotte moodily.

“You mean aside from getting scolded by my husband for taking care of you all night?” snipped Constance back, taking away Charlotte’s pillow and blanket, “Get up already.”

Charlotte let out another groan, trying to shield her eyes from the sunshine. Water splashed her suddenly, waking her up almost instantly. She raised her head to find her friend. A shirt smacked her in the face just as she attempted to stand, making her stumble briefly. 

“Constance!” she complained again.

“You’re taking too long, get a move on!”

Constance dragged her friend to the water bucket, making her wash her wash and freshen up to bury the stench of the tavern. She then hurried Charlotte into her bindings and shirt, helping her lace the waistcoat before pulling on her breeches and jacket. She turned around to grab her friend a piece of bread and cheese, handing it to the other girl, who nodded in thanks. As Charlotte bit into her bread and left it hanging out of her mouth, she bent down to pull on her boots. The ungraceful position caused her to tip. Constance rolled her eyes and grabbed Charlotte’s elbow, helping the other girl balance and finish putting on her boots.

“What’d I do without?” asked Charlotte, smiling brightly and hugging her friend around the shoulders.

“Honestly, I don’t really know,” responded Constance cheekily, “Likely end up in a ditch somewhere, I think.”

“Oi!” started Charlotte, though her protest died down when she heard a loud “Charlotte!” echo across the training yard of the Musketeer garrison. 

“His office is across the yard,” mumbled Charlotte, braiding her hair as she walked toward her uncle’s office, “He could come get me himself. There’s not need to yell like a lunatic.” She looked longingly back at her uncle’s private lodgings, a house across the yard with her bed in it.

“He tried,” informed Constance, giving her friend a quick hug and heading to the gate, “You answered with a snore.”

“Oh,” Charlotte wrinkled her nose, waving goodbye at her friend and stopping before the stairs leading to her uncle’s office, gazing at them forlornly, “So that’s why he’s in a bad mood.” She sighed and began climbing them.

“Nice of you to finally join the living,” snapped her uncle at her. 

“I preferred the company,” muttered Charlotte as she sat down in front of her uncle’s desk.

“What was that?”

“Nothing uncle,” she responded cheekily, “What has you in such a mood this morning?”

“Afternoon, Charlotte,” her uncle’s eyes found hers as he lifted his gaze to hers briefly, “It’s noon.”

“What has you in such a mood this afternoon, uncle?” she quipped, grabbing an apple at his desk and biting into it. Treville sighed.

“The cardinal is making noise about a potential plot against the crown, demanding I deal with it. Meanwhile, Athos, Aramis, and Porthos have not returned after a week searching for Cornet!” Treville leaned his face into his hands, sighing heavily again, “I am worried, Charlotte.”

The girl’s eyes softened and she muttered a “Sorry, Uncle Jean,” before she asked, “What does the cardinal want?”

Charlotte bit into her apple, lowering her gaze. Ever since the dinner party, the cardinal had taken a shine to her. Not in an inappropriate way, her uncle would have intervened otherwise, but it seemed the cardinal liked her wit and rebellious spirit, he even called her smart once. He always asked Treville after her and welcomed her visits to the palace. Charlotte and he had started an unlikely friendship, where she visited once a week, borrowed a book, and they discussed the book she read from the previous trip. While she understood and sympathized with her uncle’s frustrations when it came to the cardinal, as she knew he was no saint and resorted to ruthless means to achieve his ends, she found the cardinal to be one of the few who treated her normally and with respect. Being a sword-wielding girl that liked to read and wore breeches tended to cause some isolation, but the cardinal seemed to value her individuality. That being said, Charlotte remained very aware that she had yet to encounter the side of the cardinal that her uncle dealt with on a regular basis, the one that ordered the deaths of innocents if they were inconveniences and manipulated others to achieve his goals. At least, she thought to herself as she gazed at her uncle, she was sure the cardinal acted in what he thought was France’s best interest. 

“There is a man, Vadim,” started Treville, “Imprisoned. We believe he is hatching a plot of some sort, targeting the king. We don’t know much more than that, though, and it has all of us on edge.”

“And?” asked Charlotte.

“The cardinal concocted a plan to learn more. He wants to send spy into the prison to interrogate Vadim. Someone to act as a fellow prisoner and sympathize while getting him to open up. The problem,” at this, Treville’s voice leaked his frustration again, “Is that anyone I trust enough to act in that position will be known to Vadim. This is too delicate and important to trust to just anyone!”

“And the cardinal’s men?” she asked, finishing her apple. Her uncle shot her a look. “Yes, fine, too delicate and important,” she rolled her eyes, but suddenly sat up with an idea, “Why not send me?”

“Excuse me?” Treville sat up straight, nearly knocking over his ink and goblet of water. 

“Send me,” began Charlotte, “He won’t know me, no one knows who I am. You trust me, I can do it.”

“You are not a Musketeer!”

“Yet,” snapped Charlotte, narrowing her eyes, “And that only helps! I can be the poor girl suffering prejudice from the Musketeers. We can even sweeten the deal, enact some sort of plan to really sell my hatred,” Charlotte tapped her chin, “Some sort of bullying or hazing plot to cement my mistreatment at the hands of your men!”

“Charlotte, no!” ordered Treville.

“It could work!”

“No!”

“Let’s bet on it!” 

“What? Charlotte, for god’s sake!” Treville stood and walked to a cabinet, picking up a pitcher of wine and pouring a goblet, quickly downing it, “You are unbelievable.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Charlotte rolled her eyes and also stood up, rounding the desk, “I’ve been here ages, we’re no closer to finding the man who killed Papa, let me do something, Uncle, before I go mad! You complain about me going to the tavern every night, well, what else can I do when you keep me locked up here being utterly useless?!”

Treville turned and stared at his niece. He took in her posture, defiant as always, as well as her ever-present sword and expression.

“We will find the man responsible,” he began steadily.

“And until then?” she interrupted, “I’ll sit here patiently until you come to tell me you’ve killed him? Uncle Jean, please! I can’t bear this waiting anymore!”

Treville sighed again, looking up and pinching his eyes with his fingers.

“Fight me for it,” suggested Charlotte, brightening at the thought. Her uncle’s head snapped up to look at her, “Swordfight. I win, you let me do it. You win, I back off and let you handle it.”

“Until the next hint of excitement whispers by your ear, you mean,” muttered her uncle, but he looked at her and smiled at her excitement, “Alright. We spar, if you win, I consider it,” he narrowed his eyes at her attempt to protest, “I win, you forget about it, concentrate on other things, and,” he smirked, “You lay off the tavern visits.”

Charlotte’s nose scrunched in distaste, “Deal!” she yelled and ran out the door, already yanking off her jacket. Treville sighed one final time, muttering a “God help me” before following his niece. 

Athos, Aramis, and Porthos trotted into the city of Paris, frowns marring their faces and thoughts of the dead Musketeers haunting their minds. Their mission was successful in that they found the missing group, but that was the extent of their success. The bodies of their comrades and their missing uniforms angered the three, propelling them to find those responsible. They walked their horses into the yard, handing them off to the stable hands.

“Feed the horses,” ordered Athos, “See they’re rested.”

The three dismounted, gathering to decide on their next course of action. They were distracted by the noise coming from the training yard, where they saw a crowd gathered. Athos turned to Aramis, who shrugged, then looked at Porthos, who grinned in excitement.

“I wonder who’s fighting in a wager this time?” asked Porthos, rubbing his hands excitedly.

“I don’t know, but they better hope the Captain isn’t around,” said Aramis as the three walked over, “He always gets angry when he thinks we’re wasting our time with silly antics.”

His words seemed to run straight back into his mouth when he saw the very captain he was referencing avoid a slash to the stomach from his niece, parrying another strike before kicking her backward.

“I…” Aramis paused, looking at his friends, “I did not see that coming.”

“Now that’s the way to make an entrance,” mumbled Aramis as he saw the girl, d’Artagnan, yell and charge at her uncle.

The girl thrust her sword toward her uncle’s middle, using the momentum from his parry to slash downward, diagonally across her body before twisting her wrist and slashing in the opposite direction. The force and speed of the attack propelled Treville backward, forcing him to find his balance on some stairs before he initiated his own attack. The two traded blows.

“Is she…” asked Aramis, eyes widening, “Keeping up with the captain?”

“Rubbish!” countered Porthos, “He just doesn’t want to hurt the girl,” though he sounded less sure when the girl pulled a dagger from her waist and slashed at Treville while their swords were engaged. 

The two continued their fight, weaving around the training space and using the beams from holding the building as obstacles to assist in their maneuvers. Charlotte feigned right and went left, knocking the dagger her uncle had pulled from his hand and advancing. The fight continued, with several Musketeers calling out cheers for the girl and their captain. 

“Come on Treville!” taunted the girl, “You’re making this too easy! Maybe you should just admit you need my help!” she dodged a slash, spinning, using the movement to strengthen her next blow. 

The girl continued to taunt her uncle. Athos stared at the girl in surprise, shocked at her ability. Raw, he would admit, but promising, with much talent. She possessed a natural affinity, he realized, moving the blade and her body in a way that complemented the movements. While she knew her weaknesses, to some extent, and compensated, she allowed her emotions to rule her. He clearly saw that she had some sort of attachment to the fight, likely some wager she had made with her uncle, and it was keeping her from concentrating. He winced when the captain knocked her dagger loose and cornered her to a post. That distraction would likely cost her the match.

Meanwhile, Aramis noticed the intense gaze of Athos on the young girl. He studied his friend, trying to remember the last time something caught the moody Musketeer’s attention like this. He nudged Porthos with his elbow, nodding at Athos. Porthos turned, raising his eyebrows at their friend’s attentiveness. They both returned their gaze to the match, now more interested in studying the girl that had somehow capture their friend’s attention. The girl at the center of their thoughts twirled behind a wooden post in an attempt to avoid her uncle, not knowing that he had grabbed her lost dagger with his other hand and would halt her turn. 

“That’s enough!” yelled Treville as he cornered his niece against the wooden post, burying the dagger he took from her in the post next to her head, “That could have been your throat. Yield!” His frustration at her taunts and teasing was evident on his face.

She looked at him stubbornly, narrowing her eyes at the dagger at her side, “Again!”

“Enough, Charlotte!” ordered her uncle, withdrawing the dagger and sheathing his sword, “You lost, now keep your word,” he eyed the crowd warily, “And you all can go back to your duties!”

She frowned at him, following him to the stairs, “Let me try again. I almost had you!”

“And you let yourself get distracted and overwhelmed by your emotions, again,” Treville looked down at his niece, “It just shows you’re not ready.”

She yelled out in frustration, pushing against the posts of the stairs and storming away. Treville’s eyes landed on the three newly-arrived Musketeers.

“Figures you three show up when the excitement starts,” starts Treville, climbing up the stairs, “Come tell me what you’ve learned.”

Athos moves to obey, following the captain. Aramis holds an arm out in front of Porthos, looking at him with a grin as an idea starts to form.

“You know, Porthos,” starts the handsome Musketeer, “I think dear Mademoiselle d’Artagnan   
needs some fun,” he threw an arm around his friend, “A distraction! Maybe some instruction?” He waved at the yard. 

Porthos nodded, also grinning. “Clearly, she needs to meet people besides the captain,” he agreed as they followed Athos and climbed the stairs, “They’re about to kill each other. Plus, she’s talented,” he shrugged as they reached the door to the captain’s office, “I’d love to teach her to use that speed and agility in a fight.”

“Then we are agreed,” grinned Aramis.

“What are you doing here?” asked a red guard, stopping Charlotte form entering.

“I’m here to see the cardinal,” she stated confidently.

“What would he have to say to you?” asked the guard snidely.

“I don’t know,” she snapped, “I’ll ask him tomorrow when I have a scheduled visit. I’ll also ask him why his guard,” she squinted at his face, trying to recall his name, “Why Jacques didn’t let me through to see him the day before.”

The guard glared at her, but let her through. She made her way through the hallways, remembering the way to his office. When she arrived, the guards knocked, opening the doors after an “enter” sounded out.

“Dear Charlotte,” began the cardinal, looking up from his documents, “You are a day early. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Have you finished the book early?”

She grinned, “Not quite,” she approached and sat at the chairs at his desk, “I have an idea.”


	4. Chapter 4

Treville glared at the red guard guiding him, Athos, Aramis, and Porthos into the palace to the cardinal’s quarters. He hated the cardinal, and he especially hated the friendship the man struck up with his niece. He had been busy debriefing his men on the deaths of Cornet and the rest of his group of Musketeers when he received the summons to meet with the cardinal about Vadim. After the fight with niece and the bad news of his dead men and the stolen letters, his mood had soured even further. 

“Why are we working with the cardinal, again?” whispered Porthos, scowling at the guards flanking them.

“Are we?” Aramis raised his eyebrows, “That’s new to me.”

“Why else would we be here?” asked Porthos, smiling sarcastically before scowling again at the guard that turned to look at him.

“If we waited patiently for more information, we might find out,” muttered Athos, grinning as Porthos startled the guard he was taunting with a shake of his shoulders, faking a lounge.

“Wait patiently?” the scandalized tone in Aramis’ voice had both his friend chuckle, “It’s like you don’t even know us.”

“I wish I didn’t know you right now,” hissed Treville, turning his head to make eye contact with Aramis as they reached a large door, “Now shut up.”

Aramis pointed at himself, mouthing ‘me’ before grunting at the elbow to the ribs he received from Athos. Athos nodded at their captain, who sighed once more as the guard opened the door.

“You should stop sighing so much, uncle,” at Charlotte’s voice, the captain snapped his head up. She leaned against the cardinal’s desk with her arms crossed, her sword clinking against the desk as she shifted her weight, “It shows your age too much.”

“My age wasn’t an issue when I beat you this morning,” the captain crossed the room in long strides, halting in front of his niece and crossing his arms while he glared at her, “Which, if I remember,” his glare also held disappointment, “Meant you would back off.”

“I did,” she turned away from him and circled the desk, her hand gently sliding along the top of the desk, “I was angry, so I went to cool off. Since you don’t really let me do much of anything these days,” she returned a glare, turning briefly from where she went to grab a goblet of water, “And the cardinal has been such a good friend to me,” she nodded at the man sitting at the desk, “So I came to vent,” she shrugged, “He asked what was wrong, and I told him.”

“Indeed,” intervened the cardinal, “It’s not her fault you decided to disregard such an ingenious plan.” The first minister gestured to the chairs in front of his desk, “Please sit.”

Treville sat heavily in the offered chairs, while Athos, Aramis, and Porthos stood attentively behind him. 

“What plan?” mouthed Porthos at his two friends, who both shrugged.

“You have to admit it’s ingenious,” continued the cardinal. Charlotte rounded the corner and sat in the chair next to her uncle, drinking from the water, “It’s an ideal way to win his trust.”

“There are a number of Musketeers who could perform the job perfectly well,” countered Treville, “There is no need for it to be her.”

“Can you honestly tell me Vadim would fall for it?” argued the cardinal, “If you truly believed that would work, you would have offered that plan when I first suggested sending a spy into the prison,” the cardinal smirked, “I may not have much good to say about your garrison,” his eyes lifted to the three men looming behind the captain, “But your men’s loyalty is legendary. No one would believe a Musketeer defected, much less a man like Vadim.”

“Then we use someone else!”

“Who would you trust? Some random guard, or, even better, a criminal already imprisoned?” the cardinal raised his eyebrows, mocking Treville, “I’ve never seen you be so unreasonable before, Treville.”

“You are in the position to put Charlotte’s life in danger like this!” countered Treville.

Charlotte coughed, “But I am. I volunteer,” she turned to face her uncle when his thunderous expression turned to her, “Uncle Jean, no one knows who I am here! I have two great motivators to convince Vadim of my hatred for the royals and the Musketeers. Let me help. You know I can do it.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, “Please let me help.”

Treville turned and grabbed her hand in his. “So many things could go wrong, Charlotte,” he whispered to her, “You could die.”

She smiled sadly, “You knew what kind of life I wanted,” she said, grabbing his hand and raising a kiss to it, “That’s why you trained me.” 

Treville sighed out a “Fine,” turning to look at the cardinal, “But we are going to plan out every detail possible. And,” he raised a finger, pointing at Charlotte, “In this mission, I am your captain, not your uncle,” he frowned slightly at her grin, “Whatever I say goes, end of discussion.”

“I think you’ll find I’m much more receptive of orders when they’re coming to my superior office than my protective uncle,” she grinned at her joke, jumping up, “So, how is this going to happen?” She turned and leaned her arms against the desk.

Treville nodded his head at his three men, signaling they come forward and involve themselves in the conversation. Aramis took the chance to sit in Charlotte’s vacated chair, flinging a leg over the arm of the chair, while Athos came to stand opposite Charlotte, studying the girl with his arms crossed. Porthos moved forward slightly to place his hand on the captain’s chair and hitting Aramis’ shoulder in warning. The man grumbled as he sat straight. 

“So, we want to get Charlotte arrested so she can get close to this Vadim fellow?” asked Aramis. At the captain’s nod, he continued, “What if we provoke an illegal duel?”

“Hmmm, it should have a reason behind it,” added Athos, raising his hand to hold his chin as he thought and turning his gaze to the desk, “Otherwise it’s too coincidental. Not convincing enough.”

“Think of a cause for the duel, then,” said the cardinal, standing and walking toward the window, “Something to explain heated arguments, lack of good judgment, and impatience…”

“We still haven’t caught your father’s murderer,” said Athos, raising his eyes to meet Charlotte’s.

The girl tensed, mouth tightening, but she nodded for him to continue.

“The Musketeers haven’t really been much help to you,” added Porthos, nodding as the plan started to form, “Except to tell you to not get involved.” He raised his hands in defense when Treville glared at hi.

“You had to take matters into your hands,” agreed Aramis gesturing at Charlotte, “Not only would they not let you help, they weren’t doing much of anything themselves! The lazy and uncaring sods,” he also put up his hands when Treville’s displeasure turned to him, “Respectfully, of course.”

“And after he died defending the monarchs, who remain indifferent to your plight,” finished Athos, nodding at the cardinal when he clapped his hands together in agreement.

“Such a situation, those kinds of emotions,” Treville looked at niece with sympathy in his eyes, “Can lead to impatience, recklessness, and maybe even some,” he paused, smiling slightly, “Not so legal activities.” 

She smiled at him in return, “Sounds like me.”

“Of course, you had to resort to more… unscrupulous methods to avenge him,” the cardinal waved his hand to emphasize his point, “To get any sort of justice done, you had to see to it yourself. And then,” he points to the other men in the room, “They have to gall to interfere when you start making progress on the stalling investigation!”

“You find yourself in a cell, no help from the monarchs you saved and imprisoned by the Musketeers meant to aid you,” Porthos clapped Aramis on the shoulder, “I’d hold a grudge,” he turned to Charlotte with a sympathetic expression.

“Sounds almost logical,” Aramis stood and grinned, gesturing to the girl, “And who could blame you?” 

“Heck, I wouldn’t blame you,” Porthos shrugged his shoulders, motioning to her in solidarity.

“Is it enough to convince Vadim that you would happily participate in any plot against the king and queen, or, at a minimum, sympathize with one?” asked Athos.

“I can sell it,” assured Charlotte.

“Can you?” asked the cardinal.

Charlotte turned to her uncle. He smiled at her, nodding.

“She can,” Treville agreed.

“Gentlemen, we have a plan then!”

“On one condition!” added suddenly Treville, leaning forward and looking his niece in the eye, “Just because I think you are capable does not mean I wish to place you in undue danger,” he explained, “This plan starts with the duel and ends in the cell,” he focused on her, “Promise me. These things have a habit of complicating themselves. Your part ends in the cells.”

She frowned at him but nodded. “I promise.” 

“Alright then!” Aramis rubbed his hands together in excitement, grinning widely, “Let’s go pick a fight!”

“Vadim plans to murder the king and queen with some sort of peasant rebellion,” explained Charlotte, standing by the fireplace in Constance’s dining room.

“Have you seen any weapons or the stolen gunpowder?” asked Athos.

“And how many men does he have? Where are they?” added Aramis.

“They’re in hiding, there’s five in the house with me now,” she answered. 

“Do you know when this is expected to take place?” questioned Athos again.

“He hasn’t told me.”

“Does he trust you?” Porthos gazed at the girl curiously from his seat on a turned chair, reclining on the back of the chair and laying his head on his arms.

“I think so,” she said, “Well, at least as much as he trusts anyone, anyhow. I’ll have to come up with a good excuse to play this little escape, Felix doesn’t trust me but I can handle it.”

“What did you tell the man outside to explain your nighttime excursion?” asked Aramis.

Both Constance and Charlotte looked at each and blushed heavily. 

“Oh, now I really want to know!” laughed Porthos. 

“Anyway,” the red on Charlotte’s face remained as she continued, “Vadim said the secret to a good trick is to make people look the wrong way.”

“What do you think he meant?” asked Aramis.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” admitted Charlotte. Athos nodded.

“You’ve done enough, we’ll take it from here,” he intervened in the discussion, “Treville is going out of his mind with worry.” 

“What? No!” Charlotte turned to him, “The king and queen are still in danger!”

Athos and Charlotte inched forward, meeting in front of the fire and measuring each other. 

“You promised Treville your part would end in the cell,” prompted Athos, “Even the cardinal is uncharacteristically worried about you. What do you suggest?”

“I know I promised him,” she admitted, never wavering from his eyes, “But this is too important. He only asked for that so I wouldn’t be in danger, not because he didn’t trust me to get the job done,” she reminded him, “I can’t prioritize my safety when I have a chance to stop Vadim,” she paused, “Let me go back in.”

At that moment, Constance walked in with cups, drinks, and food. 

“She told me about the duel, the imprisonment, how it was all faked,” Constance glared at her friend, “You could have warned me.”

“You have to admit, it was all done rather well,” began Aramis, but a resounding smack interrupted him. Porthos laughed, but a glare from Constance quieted his snickers, “What for this time?”

“You slapped him already?” Charlotte asked, grinning at her friend, “Were you defending my honor, Constance?”

“Shut up, Charlotte,” snapped the other girl, “That was for letting me think the worst,” she turned to her friend again, “First you’re imprisoned, then a fugitive, now this? Have you no regard for your safety? Or at least any sympathy for your worried friends?” she turned and walked away, leaving the four standing in the room.

“I knew I liked her,” said Aramis, “Do you think she likes me?” he asked d’Artagnan, who rolled her eyes. 

“It’s too dangerous,” interrupted Athos, returning to the topic at hand.

“I can do this,” insisted Charlotte, turning to him again, “Trust me.”

Athos stared at her, studying her eyes while his mind ran through the options and various elements involved in the decision. He knew she was a good fighter, adept at swordplay, and that was sly enough to sell the charade; he also knew he had very little options side from this. Consenting to this meant going against his captain’s orders and personal wishes, but it would not be the time he made such a decision. He looked at the girl again, startled to realize that, for some reason, he did trust her. Decision made, he clapped her on the shoulder, ignoring the fluttering sensation when her entire face lit up with a smile. 

“This evening Vadim visited a woman called Suzette Pinault,” she informed them, standing and getting ready to leave, “She’s his mistress.”

“Wait,” intervened Aramis, pointing at her, “Is that what you told Felix, that Constance is your mistress?” he grinned when she blushed again and looked down.

“You’ll find Suzette Roulette Ronge,” she shouldered past Aramis, still blushing. The three men stared after her.

“Please tell me this is the right decision,” pleaded Athos, apprehension written all over his face. 

“Of course, we have!” reassured Aramis, downing his wine.

“Definitely,” added Porthos. 

“Ow!” flinched Charlotte as Aramis dabbed a cut on her temple with brandy, “That bloody stings!”

“Really? That’s what you complain about?” asked Aramis, “You were touch when I wrapped your ribs and stitched the cut on your arm, but this is what you turn into a girl over?”

“I am a girl, you ass,” she retorted, pouting and settling into her chair, “It’s more unexpected, I don’t know, it just hurts more,” she defended.

“I sincerely hope that skewed logic isn’t the result of a concussion,” Treville strode into the medical room, grabbing a chair, placing it next to his niece, and sitting. He grabbed her chin gently and examined her cut, “You are being a baby, this is small,” he turned to Aramis, “What else did she injure?”

Aramis hesitated, but Charlotte interrupted. “Just another cut and sore ribs,” she explained, smiling at him. Treville stared at her, unconvinced.

“I am going to choose to believe that, secure in the knowledge that if it was worse, someone,” he turned narrowed eyes on Athos, reclining against the wall, Porthos, laying on the bed next to them, and Aramis, holding the medical equipment, “Would tell me.”

“Oh, definitely captain,” agreed Porthos, “Someone has to keep our d’Artagnan from finding her way to an early grave.”

“Hmph,” the captain huffed, turning back to his niece, “You did well,” he praised, smiling gently at her, “Their majesties send their thanks and regards. The queen implied she wanted to see you again. Even the cardinal was impressed. I’m proud of you,” he kissed her forehead, “Make sure you get plenty of rest tonight but come find me if you feel unwell, alright?”

She hugged him, “Thank you, Uncle Jean. I will.” He stood and left the room, nodding at Athos as he exited.

“That went much better than I expected it to go,” said Aramis, returning to his task, “I think you should be in all our debriefs from now on.”

“I would if I could,” admitted Charlotte, “Honestly, even with all the craziness and danger, I felt more like myself in this mission than I have since I got to Paris,” she paused and looked down, “It was nice to be useful, for once.”

“Treville is right,” Athos walked around and took the captain’s empty chair, “You did very well. You should be proud of yourself.”

Charlotte smiled sadly at him, flinching again when Aramis dabbed at her cut.

“Almost done, keep still,” he scolded, holding her firmly. She twisted her head to give him more room and held still.

“I supposed I am,” she sighed, “The thing is, it’s just a reminder of what I can’t ever be.”

“What do you mean?” Porthos sat up, intrigued in the direction of the conversation. 

“You’ll think I’m crazy,” she started, looking at them nervously.

“Oh, we’ve probably heard crazier,” prompted Aramis gently, “Done!” He stood and began putting away the equipment, “Tell us!”

“Well, since my father died, I’ve been thinking about what to do with myself,” she bit her lip and looked at Athos, who nodded encouragingly, “I want to be a Musketeer.” She paused, waiting for their reaction.

“… Am I missing something? What’s the crazy part?” asked Porthos, looking at the other two men.

“But,” she turned to look at him, eyes wide, “I’m a girl?”

“So?” said Aramis, grabbing her should, “Your swordplay is better than half the regiment, you’re smart, braver than all the Red Guard put together…” 

Porthos interrupted with a “Not that it’s hard,” which prompted snickers and grins from them all.

“With your actions in this one mission, you proved you have the skills and ability to be a great Musketeer, your gender shouldn’t hold you,” said Athos.

“I think it’s holding my uncle back,” she admitted, “And anyone else from even considering the idea.”

“Let’s prove them wrong then!” said Aramis excitedly, standing and walking around, “We’ll train you. No offense,” he turned to her again and waved his hands, “You’re good, but we’re better. With our help, you’ll be wiping the courtyard with the entire garrison in no time!”

“You can come on missions with us?” suggested Porthos, looking to Athos for confirmation. The man sighed.

“As long as Treville agrees,” Athos caveated, “I don’t see why not. We could use you.”

“I… don’t know what to say,” she said, smiling at them all, “I don’t know what I did to deserve your trust and help, but I am grateful.”

“It’s what friends do, think nothing of it!” said Porthos, standing and slapping her on the back as he and Aramis made their way to the exit, “Now let’s go grab a drink!”

“Friends?” whispered Charlotte, looking at Athos with big eyes. He smiled at her, internally scolding himself for admiring her eyes.

“You may grow to regret it,” he warned, grinning crookedly as he took her hand and pulled her on her feet, “But you’ve officially been adopted into our motley group,” he opened his arm, motioning to the door, “You may eat your words soon. You won’t have a quiet day again.”

She smiled as they caught up to Aramis and Porthos, the four walking to the tavern together.

“I think I’m alright with that,” she said, grinning at Athos.


	5. Chapter 5

In the Musketeer training yard, Charlotte watched as Aramis and Porthos sparred, observing their techniques and listening intently to Athos’ commentary on the match. He sat on the table while she lounged on the bench with her arms on the table behind her. In some dark, quiet place inside her mind, she admitted she enjoyed the view of him and his closeness as he leaned down to talk to her. Ever since the business involving Vadim, the three men had taken her under their wing. They trained every day, unless they had a mission or task to attend to, but also spent time together as friends. As a group, they frequented the tavern, ate their meals, or simply spent time together finding ways to amuse themselves. Charlotte soon discovered that, while Aramis attended to his lovers and Porthos went off to participate in a game of cards, Athos chose to remain in the garrison in quiet contemplation, sometimes reading or thinking with a bottle of wine at his side. Charlotte had taken to joining him. To her delight, their time together was filled with conversations on whatever book they read, on morality and the code of honor’s possible flaws, on theories about sword techniques, and much more. Once, they debated the validity of the cardinal’s “ends justify the means” approach. Even when they would quietly keep each other company doing mundane activities, reading or cleaning their equipment, Charlotte found this to be one of her favorite activities in her new routine. 

They also went riding frequently, having discovered Charlotte’s love and talent with horses, and accompanied Charlotte whenever Treville asked her to work with the colts and fillies. Charlotte liked to socialize them young, teaching them to trust and interact with humans before they started their training under saddle. The mares seemed to trust her with their babies, allowing her to sit in the stall as the baby’s curiosity propelled them to investigate the unusual creature in its home. After some time, they grew used to her, even enjoyed her company as well, and greeted her with a soft nicker when she approached with treats. Even the horses who she had started under saddle liked her, as she had a gentler approach than most handlers and preferred the process to go slowly to ease the horse’s fears. Aramis, Porthos, and especially Athos liked to see her work the animals, and enjoyed participating in several aspects of her process. 

Charlotte smiled Athos muttered a fond “Idiots,” when the two sparring men got into an argument.

Aramis, in an outraged voice, placed his hands on his hips and accused Porthos of “That was a dirty trick and you know it! We can’t show d’Artagnan this! Our girl has more class!” 

To which Porthos rolled his eyes and pushed Aramis, responding, “Our girl,” at this he threw a wink at her, making her laugh softly, “Is a survivor! So, we teach her to survive. Not all opponents will be as honorable as her,” he reminded, crossing his arms and looking down at his friend in challenge.

Just as Aramis was about to charge and tackle the larger man, Athos called out a firm “Enough,” turning their attention to him, “Let Charlotte have a turn, see how well she applied this lesson,” he grinned crookedly at her, taunting their friends.

She jumped up from the table where she was previously lounging, stretching slightly to make sure her muscles weren’t stiff when she started moving. Athos also stood, moving to take Aramis’ place in the training yard. As Charlotte moved to exchange with Porthos, he grasped her around the shoulders and turned her slightly to whisper in her ear

“Remember what we practiced yesterday, lass,” he instructed, “With you speed and small size, you can mix in hand to hand with swordplay easily. Start small,” he poked his head up to look at Athos thoughtfully, “Maybe try the waist grab,” he suggested.

She nodded at him, “If I make a fool of myself, I’m blaming you and letting Athos have a go at you,” she warned. He snorted.

“Then don’t make a fool of yourself,” he clapped her shoulder as he let her go and sat next to Aramis, who straddled the bench as he drank a goblet of water.

“What’d you do?” asked Aramis, watching as their friends took their stances.

“Just a friendly suggestion,” Porthos grinned as Charlotte started the match, lounging at Athos.

The match continued, time quickly passing by. Porthos and Aramis would shout out encouragements and instruction, watching as Charlotte took their words and applied them during her match.

“Take your time, d’Artagnan,” warned Porthos, “Don’t rush. Gotta let the opportunity present itself, don’t try to force it.” 

“Build up speed once you’re confident in the movement,” advised Aramis, watching her try to incorporate footwork her taught her yesterday, “Don’t try to apply it so quickly, take the time to learn it well first,” he watched her, “She’s gotten much better.”

“Much,” agreed Porthos, “She picks it up quickly, doesn’t she?” 

“When she’s not rushing into it impulsively,” Aramis raised his eyes to see if his words affected the girl, “Yes, very quickly.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes as she heard the two’s conversation. Athos noticed and tapped her blade with his to regain her attention. 

“They’re trying to distract you,” he revealed, watching as she absorbed the information, “Don’t let them provoke you,” he engaged her once more, nodding in approval as she parried.

“But,” at this, she moved back slightly, disengaging her blade and letting it drop slightly, “They’re right. I am impulsive and hotheaded.”

“Don’t look so glum about it,” he grinned crookedly at her, “There’s worse flaws to have,” he tapped her blade again in an indication for her to raise it, “You know where your weakness lies,” he started up another sequence, forcing her to move sideways with his movement so she practiced her footwork, “So work to improve them.”

She nodded resolutely at him, following his movements. Suddenly, she saw the opening Porthos talked about. With his constant movement to the right, it left his left side open at his waist. She could use the momentum from a counter turn to bring him. At the start of the next parry, she tapped his blade harder than normal to move it out of the way, spun in the opposite direction on one leg, using the other and the momentum from her turn to knock him down. He looked at her in surprise as he fell. However, she lost her balance and follow him down with her leg trapped under his back. They laid on the ground in surprise, both blinking. 

“Ow,” she muttered. He grinned at her again.

“Didn’t quite go as planned?” 

“Not even close,” she winced when she heard Porthos laugh at her, “He’s not going to let me live this down anytime soon.”

He let out a soft laugh, sitting up slightly so she could take her leg back and patting the one at his waist.

“Is that what he told you before we started?” 

“Yeah,” she looked down sheepishly, “Didn’t go very well though.” He nodded thoughtfully, standing and offering her his hand.

“You found a good opening though,” he praised, pulling her up, “Just need to work on the delivery. That’s why we practice.”

She nodded and smiled at his words, relieved he wasn’t going to berate her for an unsuccessful move. 

“Better!” they heard Porthos bellow as he neared them. He grabbed her shoulders in excitement, “Much better! You were fast and you recognized the opening, well done!”

“Execution needs some work,” allowed Aramis, but he also grabbed her should encouragingly, “But well done.”

They all smiled at her proudly. She smiled back.

“Thank you,” she turned to Porthos, “Can you help with it again, please?”

“Happy to!” Just as they were about to take their stances, Treville appeared from his office, calling out for his niece.

“Charlotte, you three, in my office,” he turned back into the building. 

The four looked at each other.

“I didn’t do anything,” preempted Charlotte as they started walking.

“A mission maybe?” wondered Aramis.

“It has been pretty quiet around here,” admitted Porthos, brightening at the possibility of action, “Maybe he’s actually going to send d’Artagnan with us for once! We won’t have to sneak her out!” 

“Yeah right,” muttered the girl, stepping into the office, “In my dreams.”

“Hope you aren’t too comfortable,” began Treville, “I have a mission for you,” he turned to look at his niece, “For the four of you.” 

Charlotte’s mouth dropped open. She stared at her uncle with wide eyes until Aramis bumped her shoulder and her mouth shut with an audible snap.

“What’s the mission?” Athos intervened, distracting them from Charlotte, who colored at her reaction. 

“You are to travel to Le Havre in three days’ time to collect and return a certain Emile Bonnaire,” Treville looked down at his papers, “He’s a merchant who fancies himself an explorer. Apparently, he’s broken a trade treaty with Spain,” he raises his head again, resting his elbows on the desk and clasping his together, resting his chin on them, “He arrives at Le Havre in four days. I want you there a day early to scope the place out, see if there’s any reason to be suspicious.”

“Is there, sir?” asked Athos, “Any reason to be suspicious?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Treville, “But I’d feel better if you went in prepared. Be ready to go tomorrow morning,” as they turned to leave, Treville called out, “ Charlotte, stay a moment.”

She turned to look at him, then turned desperate eyes to her friends, “Don’t leave me,” she whispered, but received laughs and pats on the shoulder. Athos grabbed her shoulder empathetically.

“We’ll wait for you downstairs, let’s go grab some lunch,” he said, squeezing her shoulder.

She sighed and turned back to her uncle, sliding into the chair in front of his desk. 

“Quite the tantrum you’re throwing,” teased Treville.

“It’s been a quiet week, I think I’m due for a scolding,” admitted Charlotte.

“Do you deserve one?” Treville’s eyebrows raised in alarm.

“No! I haven’t done anything!” defended Charlotte.

He studied her for a moment, grinning at her outrage. 

“As long as you aren’t picking fights with the Red Guard again,” he warned, but smiled fondly at the memory.

“They started it!” she defended again. 

“On another note,” he pivoted, changing the topic, “You’ve been invited to dine at the palace tonight.”

She wrinkled her nose, “Again?”

“You know,” Treville started as he stood, “Most people would kill for such a chance, must less a repeat performance.” He leaned against his desk and looked down at his niece in reprimand.

“I am grateful for their majesties’ friendship,” she said, “It’s just,” she paused, cheeks coloring again at the thought of insulting a king, “The king is so…” she searched for the right word and looked at her uncle for help, “Petulant?”

He smiled at her, “He is, but he can be a good man,” he raised his eyebrow at her, “You know, you’re not the shining example of maturity, either.”

Charlotte looked down in embarrassment at such an obvious reprimand, muttering a “Sorry Uncle Jean.”

“It’s alright,” he moved, bending down to plant a kiss on her head, “No one is perfect, just remember that and be patient with him,” his eyes were kind, “I think he needs friends who see him as Louis, not as a king, to bring out that maturity in him.”

She nodded, eyes lighting up at the implication that he wanted her to be that friend.

“So, when are we going?” she asked.

“Just you,” explained Treville, laughing at the panic in her eyes, “And it’s with the queen and a friend of hers. A Countess de Larroque, I believe.”

“Is that a pout I see?” teased Aramis as Charlotte descended the stairs.

She shoved him, muttering a “shut up,” as she passed him.

“What’d he want, lass?” asked Porthos, throwing an arm around the girl.

“The queen invited me to dine with her tonight,” she informed them, “Just me,” her wrinkled nose showed her displeasure at the thought.

“Isn’t that good? It’s the king that’s a spoiled brat, right?” said Aramis, wincing and yelling out a “Hey!” when Athos hit him over the head. 

“I thought you liked the queen?” asked Porthos, looking down at her in concern. 

“I do,” she colored again, embarrassed at the reason for her displeasure.

“Then what is it?” asked Athos. Charlotte looked down and mumbled.

“What?!” asked Aramis, pressing into her space and grinning at her, “Louder lass.”

“I have to wear a bloody dress, alright,” she hissed at him, pushing him away, "They're uncomfortable!" 

All three of them laughed. Porthos rumpled her hair, removing his arm and laughing with Aramis as they teased her.

“Is it really so bad?” asked Athos, falling into step next to her.

“I’m being childish, I know,” she admitted, but frustration leaked into her voice, “I just hate having to act like something I’m not,” she confessed, “Especially when…” she blushed and looked down, “When, between you three and Constance, I have friends who accept me for who I am.” Athos looked down at her with understanding in his eyes, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze in comfort. They continued walking in silence for a moment.

“If I may,” he began, pausing when she looked up at him, “No one expects you to be anything other than yourself,” he smiled, “No matter what you’re wearing.” 

She blinked at him, then colored again, “I feel silly now.”

“Don’t feel silly,” he said, “You’ve had to break several of our society’s norms to truly be who you are. It makes sense that you would associate a dress with those norms.”

“And they’re bloody uncomfortable,” she added unhappily, “I can’t bloody breathe in those damn corsets.” He laughed at her.

“Oh, Mademoiselle d’Artagnan!” they heard Aramis’ voice in the entrance to the tavern, “Ladies first!” he gestured into building.

She rolled her eyes and pushed him as she entered, feeling relieved at their normal teasing.

Charlotte glared at the dress on her bed. She had finished packing up for the mission in the morning after lunch, met up briefly with Constance to inform her of her trip, and then bathed for the dinner. Now, she faced the task of dressing herself, but the more she looked at the dress, the more she realized she usually had help when putting the infernal contraptions on. Constance always showed her how to lace the corsets, plus, the informal dresses the two girls favored had simple laces on the sides and top. This dress, though not as luxurious as the noblewomen’s gowns, was more complicated. The worst part was the inner corset that ad ties at the back. She could handle the petticoats and outer layer easily enough. She put on her chest bindings, the shift, and the linen pants that served as undergarments, then the petticoats. As she put on the corset and tried tightening it, she heard a knock at her door.

“Charlotte,” it was her uncle Treville, “The carriage is here.”

“Carriage?” she said, surprised. She opened the door and stuck her head out to look at her uncle, “I thought I was riding?” she blushed when she realized Aramis was standing next to her uncle.

“So did I,” said her uncle, “But the queen was kind enough,” he narrowed his eyes at her, “To send a driver, so be appreciative,” he paused for a moment, “That doesn’t mean you are allowed to indulge overmuch. You were raised better than that,” he warned.

“And you have a mission in the morning!” added Aramis happily, “Can’t be too hungover for that!”

“Are you alright?” he uncle noticed her discomfort, realizing she was half-dressed and blushing.

She looked down at herself, “I think I need some help.”

“Help?” asked Treville.

“I… don’t know how to tighten this,” she admitted, blushing and gesturing at the corset she was holding up to her chest.

“What would you do without me?” asked Aramis, pushing his way into the room. At Treville’s indignant noise, he turned back to the captain, “Captain, I’ve undone enough of these to know how to put one back on. Let me help my petite soeur (little sister).”

At the endearment, Treville softened and nodded, “Just as good, I have no idea how to work those bloody contraptions. I’ll wait outside for you.”

“Come here,” said Aramis, “It seems you have most of it figured out. Just the corset then?”

She nodded, going to him and turning. 

“Hold it up, I’ll get the laces,” he started his task, noticing the bindings in place, “You don’t need both of those, you know,” he said, tapping her back where the bindings were visible.

“I’m used to it,” she explained, “I feel uncomfortable without it.”

“Ah,” he breathed in understanding, finishing up the laces, “Now, let’s see, where’s the outer layer.” He moved to the bed and help up the dark red dress, looking back at her, “Simple but elegant,” he said with approval, “The coloring suits you. Hands up,” he instructed scrunching up and sliding the dress over her head.

“You’re far too familiar with this,” she teased him as he sorted out wrinkles and folds around the dress. 

“Be grateful, otherwise, who would help you?” said Aramis.

“Constance usually does, but she’s with her husband,” explained Charlotte.

“And a finishing touch!” said Aramis, “Jewels?” She laughed.

“I don’t have any,” she admitted, “It’s not really my specialty.” 

“That won’t do! Here,” he slipped off a golden cross from his neck, placing it around hers, “The queen gave me this. She’ll appreciate the gesture,” he winked at her, “Just don’t fiddle with his,” he flicked her hands as they started playing with the necklace.

“Thanks, Aramis,” she smiled.

“Not necessary,” he smiled at her and kissed her forehead, “You do look lovely.” He offered her his elbow and walked her out. As they walked, he noticed her easy step, “Didn’t the queen also give you a pair of those heeled shoes? You walk remarkably well in them.”

“I… may have cut off the heels,” she admitted. At his bark of a laugh, she also giggled.

Treville met them at the bottom of the stairs, “What am I going to do with you?” he asked, having heard to end of their conversation. He also kissed her on the forehead, “You look lovely.”

She waved at him to hide her blush, “Stop it, leave me alone,” her embarrassment made them smile.

She spotted Athos and Porthos lounging at their usual table, chatting. Aramis called them over.

“Aw, our little d’Artagnan really is a girl after all!” teased Porthos, “And a pretty one at that!” 

“Oh, please leave me alone,” she begged them, cheeks stained red. 

“She needs to get going, don’t want to make her late, do you?” said Treville, motioning to the gate there the coach waited.

“Yeah, the queen will get angry if we delay her new friend,” said Aramis, “And then we’ll have to rescue you from the dungeons,” he nudged Porthos. 

Athos remained silent, looking at Charlotte. This made her nervous. She fidgeted with Aramis’ cross as she walked, finally turning to him.

“What?” she asked defensively.

“For all your worry about not being yourself,” he started, opening the door of the carriage for her, “You look remarkably like the Charlotte we all know and love.” 

She smiled, beaming at him. Somehow, he knew exactly what to say to make her feel at ease, though she did blush furiously when he said ‘love.’ 

“Have her home by midnight,” instructed Treville to the driver, closing the door firmly, “She has an early morning.” At the nod, he turned to his niece, “Behave,” he ordered, smiling at her “who, me?” expression. 

The carriage took off, leaving the four men staring after it. 

“She looked less nervous,” started Treville, looking at the three, “Did you say something to her?”

The three shrugged.

“I think it’s that we didn’t treat her any different,” said Aramis, “She’s still the same Charlotte in a dress or in breeches, no difference to us.”

Treville sighed, “I admit, I feel a little lost with her sometimes,” he looked in the direction of the disappeared carriage, “I worry that she will feel alone and remain isolated from our society for her choices, but I want her to feel at ease about being herself.”

Porthos gently clapped the captain’s shoulder. “She won’t be alone,” he said, “She’s got us, and you.” He grinned, “Apparently, she’s also got the queen.”

Treville nodded, “I’m grateful to you for it,” he admitted, “She needs friends.” With that, he walked back to his office. 

Aramis and Porthos eyed each other mischievously, having seen the quiet conversation and admiring looks Athos and Charlotte had exchanged before she departed. They knew there was potential there and had discussed the best way to nurture its growth. However, neither of them could ignore their trouble-making instincts to tease their friend over his crush.

“Little d’Artagnan sure looked pretty, eh, Aramis?” started Porthos.

“All grown up, our little spitfire,” Aramis wiped a pretend tear from his eyes, “And to think, I had to teach her how to tie up her corset.” 

Athos’ head shot up at the comment, turning to look at Aramis in question.

“She couldn’t tie the corset?” asked Porthos, smiling fondly. 

“She tried tying it with the laces to the front, but that won’t due, so I helped her,” explained Aramis, grinning when Athos’ heckles seemed to simmer down, “Now that she’s safely on her way, who’s up for a drink?”

“Go ahead,” said Athos, turning towards the gate, “There’s some business I need to take care of before we leave tomorrow.” He started walking toward the garrison barracks. 

He heard one of them mutter “Is that what we’re calling wanking now? Business?” and shot them a glare. They laughed and continued on their way. Athos sighed as he made his way into the stables, focused on gathering and cleaning his equipment, though his mind focused on Charlotte. He knew why his friends teased him, and while their assumptions of his growing feelings for Charlotte were correct, he couldn’t help but remember the last time he fell in love with a fiery brunette. He fingered the locket around his neck, taken by a melancholy mood. Maybe he should have gone with his friends, he considered, he could really use a drink.

Charlotte stood outside the doors to the queen’s chambers, hesitating to enter. The choice is taken out of her hands, however, when the door opens from the inside. She quickly hides the hand she had raised to knock, wrapping it in her hand behind her back. 

“Hello?” she asked awkwardly, facing a blonde woman dressed elegantly. 

“Hello,” answered the woman, “You must be Charlotte?”

“Charlotte!” came the voice of the queen, who appeared next to the blonde, “Come in! We were wondering where you were!”

“Sorry your majesty,” she said, “I got a little lost on my way to this part of the palace,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Understandably,” said the blonde woman, “The palace can feel like a maze!”

“Charlotte,” said the queen as they entered the room and took their seats at the table, “This is Ninon, Countess de Larroque.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Ninon, turning a brilliant smile at the girl, “Her majesty has told me so much about you.”

Charlotte smiled back, feeling fondness for the kind woman but unable to shake the discomfort of being in the presence of nobility. The countess and queen noticed, and tried to engage her in conversation.

“I told her all about your brave exploits, how you saved us!” added the queen, smiling at the girl, “And I heard about your efforts to bring that criminal, Vadim, to justice.”

“I am curious what you are up to now?” asked Ninon.

“Well, mostly, I train at the Musketeer garrison,” Charlotte admitted, cheeks coloring but holding her head high proudly while keeping Athos’ words present.

“How wonderful!” said the queen, “You must be learning so much!”

“What is your preferred weapon?” asked Ninon.

Charlotte stared at the two women in surprised, shocked they would accept her preferences so easily. Athos’ words sprung up again in her mind, and she smiled, suddenly much more at ease.

“My preference is with swords,” she informed them, “Though I also have a fondness for daggers. Recently however, my friends Porthos and Aramis have begun to teach me shooting and hand to hand combat. I have to admit,” she paused and lowered her voice, “I am rather rubbish at shooting. I can fight decently well, but I worry I will never be a good shot. Aramis is kind to be so patient with me.”

“Aramis is teaching you?” asked the queen.

“Yes, your majesty,” answered Charlotte, remembering she was wearing a gift from the queen to Aramis and wondering how the queen knew him. 

“Call me Anne in private, Charlotte,” requested the queen, smiling at her, “We are friends, after all,” at Charlotte’s nod, she continued, “I recognized the cross I gave him around your neck.”

Charlotte looked startled for a moment, then smiled, “Yes, Anne,” she tested the name out, almost stumbling over it, “He, Porthos, and Athos have taken me under their wing,” she paused, taking a quick bite of food and swallowing, “They’ve become the brothers I never had, I don’t know what I’d do without them and Constance,” she laughed as she fingered the cross, “Aramis helped me with the corset, I couldn’t figure out how to tie it, and said I needed a finishing touch. He made me promise to take great care with it and return it promptly,” she promised the queen, who giggled. Charlotte's looked down at her plate and bit her lip, wondering if her next sentence was too bold, "I am grateful for them. They support my hopes of becoming a Musketeer."

“I am glad to hear you’ve found such loyal companions,” said the queen, "And they should support such a noble goal! You would make a great Musketeer!"

"Has there ever been a female Musketeer?" asked Ninon.

"No," said Charlotte.

"Then you'll be the first!" clapped Ninon, "How exciting! It's about time women started paving their own way." Charlotte smiled, grateful for their excitement on her behalf. 

“Oh, Charlotte," the queen asked, "I wanted to ask you about your friend, Constance,” Charlotte looked up at the queen, “You see, I am in need of a lady in waiting I can trust, someone I could call a friend,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “And who would not feel tempted to act on the cardinal's orders, if you gather my meaning?”

“That man has a talent for planting snakes everywhere,” snarked Ninon.

“He does,” agreed Charlotte, smiling slightly, “Constance is a steadfast, loyal friend. You wouldn’t need to worry about that with her. I can broach the subject with her if you’d like?” at the queen’s nod, she added, “While I am aware of the cardinal’s flaws, I have found his company pleasant. We have a standing appointment every week where we discuss books he lends me, though,” Charlotte paused, reflecting, “I haven’t spoken to him in some time.”

“I’m sure your uncle dislikes your friendship with him,” said the queen.

“I think it bothers him a bit,” admitted Charlotte, “But I enjoy the conversation. He lent me the Prince by Machiavelli last, and we had very different opinions on it.”

“Really? I would love to hear more,” said Ninon, “What did you think of the book?” 

Charlotte smiled at the woman, suddenly grateful that somehow, in the span of a dinner, she had gained two new female friends.

As she exited the carriage and arrived home, Charlotte reflected on the evening. She enjoyed herself immensely, conversing, laughing, and sometimes even gossiping with Anne and Ninon. It was such a relief to be accepted wholly; not once did either of them show any distaste or disapproval of her lifestyle or choices. She now had a standing invitation to attend Ninon’s education seminars and an open door to visit the queen whenever she please. Having never had female friends aside from Constance, she valued this new development tremendously. 

“…otte, Charlotte!” a voice startled her out of thoughts, making her turn abruptly on the stairs and almost lose her footing. Strong arms wrapped around her waist to steady her, “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you alright?” she looked up and saw Athos staring up at her the bottom step.

“I didn’t hear you, sorry,” she said, reddening when she felt his arm still at her waist. She ducked her head to hide her cheeks, “I was lost in thought.”

“I saw,” he nodded his head at her feet, teasing her for her stumble, “Does that mean it went well?” 

“It did, actually,” she answered, climbing the stairs. He followed, making sure to steady her if she faltered, “I think the queen wants to be friends with me,” she admitted, happy with the idea but a little overwhelmed by it, “Is that a good thing?”

He grinned crookedly at her, “I think so,” he gentle bumped her with his shoulder when they reached the top of the stairs, “Who wouldn’t want to be friends with you? The way you attract trouble is entertaining,” he teased, avoiding her slap to his arm with a grin. 

“I think the Countess de Larroque also likes me,” she kept going, “She invited me to her teaching seminars,” she paused and turned to him, “Did you know she has teaching seminars dedicated solely to the education of women?”

“I had heard she valued women’s education,” answered Athos honestly, “But only that. Are you considering attending?” 

“I don’t know, maybe,” she shrugged, “She also asked if I would be willing to teach her and her students the basics of swordplay.” Athos’ eyebrows shot up in the air.

“Are you considering it?” 

“Maybe.” She paused and knocked on her uncle’s door, calling out an “I’m home,” before moving on. She paused and snickered when she heard a thump and a “Go to sleep,” through the door. 

Athos walked her to her door, “It sounds like you enjoyed your time there.”

“I did,” she smiled at him, "It's funny. I went from being scorned by women to suddenly having three female friends," she paused, “You were right, though,” at his questioning eyes, she elaborated, “I’m still me, even in a dress. I was letting clothing dictate what I should be, how I should act,” she lifted up the skirts of the dress in a tiny curtsy, joking, “Turns out I can wear a dress and still be me!” 

“I’m glad you feel more comfortable,” he said, cupping her cheek and drawing her in for a kiss on the forehead, “You do look lovely,” he grinned crookedly down at her, “But I have to admit, the breeches suit you more.”

She laughed, “Good because I like them more! Dresses can be for special occasions!” she declared. 

Athos laughed with her, then nodded at her door, “I’ll let you get some rest,” he turned to leave but suddenly her hand shot out and grabbed his arm, “Charlotte?” he asked when her face suddenly turned scarlet.

“Um, can I ask you for a favor? You can say no,” she mumbled, feeling extremely embarrassed and awkward. 

“Of course.”

“It’s just,” she paused to regain her courage, “Aramis helped me tie the corset,” she mumbled out, “I don’t know if I can reach the laces by myself.”

Athos’ heart thundered. It felt like it would leap out of his chest with how quickly it sped up. He nodded mutely, stunned at the request and the trust she was showing him. Still blushing, she unlocked and opened the door to her quarters, turning to give him room. He placed his hand briefly on her waist as he studied the laces on the outside of the dress, moving his fingers to loosen them when he identified where they tied. As the outer layer gave way, he saw the corset beneath, wincing at how uncomfortable it looked.

“I promise to never tease you about dresses again,” he joked to her as he loosened the corset and felt her take a deep breath, “This looks like a torture device.”

She laughed, “You’re not wrong,” she took another breath, “Oh, I can breathe again.”

He noticed the chest bindings she wore under the shift. “Don’t these hurt,” he ran his index finger over the top.

Charlotte shivered at his touch, fighting down the urge to lean into it. She knew she was being ridiculous, that the feelings she was rapidly developing for Athos were unrequited and inappropriate, but having him so close made her forget that logic. 

“I’ve grown used to them, but I have to be careful. If I don’t take them off enough, they can cause soars,” she answered honestly, turning, “Sometimes, if I’m feeling lazy, I just loosen them.”

He nodded his head in understanding. “If you ever need privacy when we are on the road for this, you’ll let us know?” he phrased it as a question, but they both heard the order in it.

She nodded. Satisfied, he turned, calling out a “goodnight” as he walked to leave. “Goodnight,” she answered as he closed the door. She lay on the bed with her arms spread, smiling stupidly to herself. Even with the smile, she muttered a “Don’t be such a girl,” and stood to finish undressing. 

She didn’t see or hear Athos close the door and rest his forehead on the wood. He smiled when he heard her muffled voice whisper something unintelligible, then straightened as he heard her finish undressing and preparing for bed. That entire experience had been like something out of fantasy, but now he had to take a cold bath and grab a drink to stop thinking about the many ways it could have escalated. As he walked home, he thought about her skin, how easily he could have kissed the back of her neck from his position, how desperately he wanted to finish undressing her to expose more skin. He especially sought to repress the thoughts he was having about undoing her chest bindings. When he had touched the skin right above the binding, he could have sworn she shivered. He berated his mind for wishful thinking, and for misplacing his lust- it could easily have been a shiver from the cold. Either way, he resigned himself to a long night with this traitorous thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

Charlotte blearily opened her eyes, taking in the darkness outside her window and sighing. Though she had gotten into bed with the intention of sleeping right after Athos left her room the previous night, her mind would not stop repeating her interaction with the broody Musketeer. That, combined with the faint shiver of arousal that his touch had left on her body spooked away any sleepiness she might have had, leading to her tired and grumpy mood. She buried her head in the pillow, groaning at a laugh at her side.

“Time to wake up Charlotte,” whispered her uncle, shaking her shoulder and teasing, “You’re the one that wanted to go on a mission,” she peaked an eye out to glare at him. 

His fond look made her sigh and sit up. She stretched and reached to the side table, grabbing a glass of water and downing it. 

“When do we leave?” she asked, standing and pulling at her hair in an attempt to organize it. 

“Aramis and Porthos are eating a quick breakfast downstairs. Athos was saddling the horses,” he paused, “He asked me to come find you so you could also grab some food.” She nodded, beginning to scramble around the room to gather her clothes. “Don’t take long,” warned Treville, exiting and closing the door.

She heard him say “She’s coming,” to someone as he walked away. Worried that she was delaying their group, she hurriedly dressed and gathered her weapons, grateful she had the foresight to prepare her belongings and saddlebags the day before. As she exited her room, crossing the halls and making her way down the stairs, she finished off her braid and approached the table where her two friends sat.

“There’s our sleeping beauty,” Porthos grinned at her around a mug of milk. He motioned to the bread and cheese on the table, “Eat something, then we’re headed out.”

“Did you sleep well?” asked Aramis, smiling at her, “And did the dinner go well?”

She nodded, “Very well,” she pulled out his cross, returning it to him with a smile, “You were right,” she smirked when he slipped it around his head and cradled it gently, “She says hello.”

Porthos snorted, also smirking at the sudden blush staining Aramis’ cheeks. 

“What can I say,” blustered Aramis, tucking the cross back into his jerkin and shirt, “I’m charming!”

Both Porthos and Charlotte laughed at him. She grabbed a piece of bread, sliced it open with a knife at the table, and stuffed some cheese into it, closing it and standing. 

I’m going to help with the horses,” at their nods, she walked over, biting into her breakfast. 

She entered the stalls to see two horses tacked up. Aramis and Porthos didn’t have a preference for what horse they rode, but she knew Athos did – like her, he had a way with them. She walked over, gently sliding her hand over the horse's uncovered withers and taking another bite from her bread. 

“Steady,” she heard from a stall. Making her way over, she stopped at the door of the stall, smiling and biting her bread again. There stood Athos, grooming her black mare. “Easy,” he whispered to her when she stomped the ground, “She’ll be here soon, stop fussing,” he grumbled. The mare turned to nip at him, stomping again when he smacked her neck in reprimand. 

Feeling mischievous, Charlotte whistled softly. The mare, attuned to her mistress, turned suddenly, backing Athos against the wall with her full weight. His “oof” prompted Charlotte to giggle.

“Hi Buttercup,” Charlotte stroked the mare’s neck, scratching where her mane began to grow. The mare nuzzled her hand, searching for treats and snorting in displeasure when she only found bread, “Don’t be so mean to Athos,” Charlotte berated the mare as said man moved closer to her after shoving the bulk of the horse out of way.

“If only you were so obedient,” he teased, sidestepping her shove as she entered the stall. Charlotte finished her breakfast before picking up the brush, picking up where he had left off. “She’s gotten used to you,” he patted the now calm mare, “You’ve spoiled her too much, she’s too moody,” he remarked, exiting the stall and moving the one housing his own horse.

“There’s nothing wrong with a little love between friends, right Buttercup?” she asked the mare, scratching her withers. The mare nickered softly, continuing to eat her hay, “It builds trust! Besides, you’re worse than her!” she pointed the brush accusingly at him, “What’s your excuse?” 

“She has no reason for it,” countered Athos, exiting the stall and moving into his horse’s, “Thanks to you, she’s the most well cared for horse in Paris.”

“Aww, feeling left out? Do I need to spoil you more?” as the words left her mouth, she tried biting her tongue to stop them, cursing her impulsiveness. 

She hid her blush in the horse’s neck, scratching it again. The mare flicked her with her tail, almost like she was berating Charlotte for the slip of the tongue. Athos, meanwhile, turned to look at Charlotte, wondering if meant that comment to come out the way it did. Catching her red cheeks, he grinned, realizing her hothead got the better of her again.

“Some gifts of wine every now and then are always appreciated,” he teased, beginning to groom his own horse, which nickered at him in greeting after he patted it fondly, “I’d say I’ve earned them, acting as a chaperone for you three is reason enough for any moodiness.”

Charlotte breathed, relieved Athos understood her odd and inappropriate joke. She exited the stall, dropping the brush with the other grooming supplies and grabbing a halter to lead her mare out of the stall. As she was tying the mare to the rings on the wall, she glanced over at the Athos. She admired the way he interacted with horses. Given her own connection with the animals, she often liked or disliked people based on their treatment of horses. If possible, her attraction to the man grew. 

As she was lost in her thoughts, she didn’t realize her mare turned and nipped her arm. She flinched back, flicking her mare’s muzzle in annoyance, before wandering into the tack room to grab her saddle.

“Aramis and Porthos are a hand full, I’ll admit,” she finally answered, saddling her mare, “But I take offense at being counted among that number,” she opened the stall for him as he also led his horse out of the stall, toward the rings lining the walls. He threw her a crooked grin, “Hey! No, I am not as bad as them!” suddenly she poked him in the chest, “I chaperone you just as much as you do me!” she protested. He kept grinning and entered the tack room.

As he returned with his saddle and hefted it onto the horse, he turned and raised an eyebrow at her. She crossed her arms, turning and wandering into the tack room again to grab the four bridles. Moving through the room, she grabbed two before realizing the final two were hung on hooks too high for her. She strained, managing to grab the bottom part of the bridle and wiggle it in an attempt to dislodge it from the hook, but could not set it free. As she looked around for something to use as a stool, she felt a hand at her waist. She looked over her should and saw Athos raising an arm and grabbing the two bridles. Charlotte looked down to hide her blush as his other hand remained at her waist. He nudged her toward the door, nodding toward it. She marched forward, keeping her head down exiting the room. 

They put the bridles on the horses. Charlotte returned to the tack room one final time, grabbing all their saddlebags and left-over equipment. As she returned, she saw Aramis and Porthos finalizing their own horses’ tack and speaking in hushed tones with Athos. Porthos noticed her return and motioned for her to come closer.

“I was telling Athos,” he reached into a pocket and pulled out his purse, “Aramis and I were playing cards with some of the Red Guards at the tavern last night,” he explained, untying the strings, “I won, naturally,” he grinned at their snorts, “And you’ll never believe what I won from Dujon,” he paused dramatically, grinning when Athos raised his eyebrow in exasperation and Charlotte waved her hand in a ‘get on with it’ motion. He pulled out a shiny gold coin, “A Spanish ducat.”

Aramis and Athos raised their eyebrows at the find, while Charlotte looked on in confusion.

“I’m confused,” she admitted, looking between them, “Why does that matter?”

“Because,” explained Aramis, grabbing the coin from Porthos, “You can go a decade without seeing a single Spanish ducat in Paris,” he pulled something from a pocket, “And in less than a month,” he reveals an identical coin, “We find two.”

“We found that at the site where Cornet and his men were slaughtered,” explained Athos, frowning, “It’s too odd to be a coincidence.” 

“It is,” agreed Charlotte, looking at the coins. She lifted her gaze to the three men, “Have you told Treville?”

Porthos nodded, grabbing the coins and pocketing them. “He said he’d look into it,” he began, grabbing his horse’s bridle and leading it out, “But I’d rather we lend a hand,” he grinned at his friends before mounting his horse.

“He’s lucky we’re just so helpful,” said Aramis as they left the stables, swinging onto his horse, “Saintly in our kindness, really!” The two started bantering.

Athos swung onto his horse, hesitating to catch up to Aramis and Porthos when he saw Charlotte pause.

“D'Artagnan?” he called out, snapping her out of her thoughts. She looked up at him.

“We have a lead,” she said. He nodded. She swung onto her mare, suddenly grinning in excitement, “We finally have something!” she said excitedly as they trotted out of the gate.

“We do,” his pleasure at the news showed on his face, “But,” he narrowed his eyes, “Don’t let it distract you from this mission,” he warned, “Distractions will only delay our return and our investigation.” Her expression turned serious, nodding in agreement. 

“But when we return…” she prompted, her expression hopeful. He nodded.

“When we return, we’ll find out the truth,” he reached over, clasping her shoulder, “And find your father’s killer.

Her hopeful smile made his heart skip a beat in his chest. Suddenly, their friends shouted their names, prompting them to break into a canter to catch up to them. Charlotte couldn’t stop smiling. She was surrounded by her friends, going on a Musketeer mission, and one step closer to avenging her father. 

Charlotte couldn’t stop frowning. The man, Bonnaire, was an irritating, troublemaking, ass. Not the good, fun kind of troublemaking either, the bad, problematic, cause-assassins- to-come-after-you kind. Now that Aramis had tended to Porthos’ wound and their friend was recovering - and they had temporarily outrun the Spanish assassins on their tail- she could stew in her anger at their situation.

She continued wandering the halls of Athos’ house, wondering why he had been so hesitant to bring them here for shelter. As she walked, she entered a room with three portraits. She recognized Athos. Though he looked much different wearing noble attire, she thought with a blush, he was still handsome. The other two portraits, a man and a torn one, she did not recognize. As she was about to lift the torn canvas to look at the ruined painting, she heard someone step into the room.

“You’re being nosy,” scolded Athos, frowning. She frowned too. He hadn’t stopped frowning since they arrived here and his mood was atrocious. When the bottle in his hand caught her eye, she felt her anger spark more. She could handle his moodiness, but this was over the line.

“And you’re being a drunk ass,” she snapped back, angry suddenly at his blank face and unwillingness to open up to his friends.

“Is that the only insult you know?” he taunted her, frown turning ugly.

“It’s the only one I need,” she retorted, “You don’t really fit any other description in this state.”

He glared at her and she glared right back, crossing her arms. Finally, he sighed, dropping his gaze and head, lowering the bottle to the ground, and scrubbing his eyes. Even his shoulders, as tense as they had been since entering the house, dropped and relaxed.

“I apologize,” he started, ignoring her shocked look and moving toward the portraits, “This place brings out the worst in me.”

She turned away, willing down her anger after his apology. Her attention turned to the torn portrait, “What happened here?”

“Vandals I suppose.” His response was curt, echoing his gruff appearance. 

She turned and shot him another glare. “Should I leave you to your drinking, then?” 

At his lack of a response, she turned to leave. As she approached the door behind him, he caught her elbow, holding it. She gazed at him angrily, ready to reprimand him, but a look at his face paused her tirade. He studied the portrait of the other man and her gaze softened even more when she saw the pain in his eyes.

“Who was he?” she asked as he left go of her arm. She could see his tense shoulders relax as her anger dissipated and she remained in the room. 

“My brother, Thomas, everyone’s favorite” he mumbled, looking down, “He died.” He turned and walked toward the window, turning his attention outside in an attempt to distract from the portrait. Instead, all he could recall were memories.

Charlotte sensed his unease, following him. “I’m sorry,” she raised her hand, resting it on his shoulder and squeezing in solidarity. 

He moved his arm. For a moment, she thought he was going to remove her hand and walk out. Instead, he rested his hand on hers, squeezing back and holding it for a moment. She realized this quiet comfort helped him, so she stepped forward, wrapping an arm around his chest and hugging him. Her cheek came to rest on his back and she gave another gentle squeeze. She felt him relax, his mouth letting out a big sigh that seemed the deflate his entire body. 

“I never thought I’d be ready to talk about it,” he admitted, keeping that position as he stared at the trees and grass outside, “To the point where I ran from it all rather than face it. I thought it’d haunt me forever and the only solace I’d get was losing myself in the bottom of a bottle,” she heard shame and pain in his voice.

“We all deal with grief differently,” she offered. Suddenly, she grinned into his back, “I was ready to fight you on the word of a stranger,” she reminded him. She felt him chuckle.

He released her and she withdrew. With one final look at his brother’s portrait, he turned to face the door. She was happy to see the light return to his eyes and the frown leave his lips. Even if it wasn’t a smile, at least it wasn’t a frown or that blank, neutral expression. 

“I’ll tell you what happened, one day,” he suddenly promised.

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” he interrupted her, walking out of the room, “I’m not ready yet,” he admitted, turning slightly, “But I’m starting to think that I will be,” he grinned, “And I’ll tell you why I joined the Musketeers.”

“Really?” she had wanted to know the story for ages, but he never shared it. Not even Aramis and Porthos knew it.

“Soon,” he promised. At her hesitation, he reached out a hand toward her, smiling when looked away from him as she grasped the offering, “I am grateful, for your comfort,” he grinned crookedly, pressing a kiss to her hand, “And your patience,” she laughed with him at that acknowledgment of his mood, “But for now,” he motioned for her to walk with him, “We need to deal with this mess,” they both startled at Aramis’ sudden call.

“Someone’s coming!” Aramis sprinted past them toward the front door. Porthos followed at a slower pace, obviously mindful of his injury.

“Who is it?” called Athos as they followed their two friends.

They heard Aramis laugh. “You’d better come take a look!”

D’Artagnan glanced back at Porthos worriedly as Bonnaire dug a grave for his wife. “Should we leave them alone?”

Aramis glanced up at her question, eyeing the two with concern. “Probably not,” he sat up from his reclined position on the tree. 

He walked off, breaking into a light jog when the other men’s conversation seemed to turn heated again. Athos sighed again, pacing and turning to look at the tree next to him. “I need a drink,” as he turned to walk back into the house, Charlotte called out. 

“Do you need company?” she had seen him descend into melancholy the more they remained at his old home. It did not bode well that he sought his own company to drink now.

“No,” he reassured, squeezing her hand before releasing it. At her unconvinced look, he added, “It’ll be fine. Just get back on the road as soon as you can. And keep an eye on Porthos.” He began walking back towards the house. 

“Let me come with you,” she asked, following him and grabbing his elbow in an effort to stop him, “You’ve not been yourself since we got here.”

“I’ll be honest, when we first arrived, I felt the memories were eating me up. But now,” he grabbed and raised her hand to place a soft kiss on it, “Now, I feel like I am in mourning,” his mouth lifted in a sad smile, “I am relieved because that means I am moving on,” he released her hand, “But I don’t want you to see me like this,” came his final admittance, “I promise, I’ll catch up,” he turned away from her, “There’s someone I need to see in the village.”

Charlotte bit her lip, unconvinced but understanding the value in allowing Athos to grieve. “Are you sure?”

“Get Bonnaire to Paris,” this was an order, she recognized the tone, and he turned away from her.

She looked at his back as he walked away, unease churning in her stomach. Eventually, she saddled up and rode with Aramis and Porthos, resuming their mission to escort the dislikeable Bonnaire to Paris. Her mind swirled anxiously, thinking out terrible scenarios. Suddenly, she realized she would not be able to complete this journey without Athos. She turned to Aramis and Porthos, who looked at her in surprise as her mare swung around.

“I’m going back,” she declared.

“Finally,” said Porthos grumpily, “Took you long enough.”

“Hurry up, before he drinks himself to death,” warned Aramis, “We’ll take care of this piece of shit,” he glared at Bonnaire. She nodded at them, digging her heels into her mare’s sides to spur her into a gallop. She hoped she hadn’t missed something important. 

Smoke billowed out of the side house in a dark cloud. Charlotte saw it and gasped. As soon as her mare neared the house, she jumped off, sprinting into the house and calling out for Athos. 

“Athos!” she yelled, searching the rooms. Suddenly, she burst open a pair of doors and came upon Athos, lying on the ground, with a familiar woman holding a dagger at his neck, “You!” She yelled out, before taking in the scene, “Get away from him!” 

Charlotte unsheathed her sword, advancing. The woman reared back, pulling Athos with her to a stand and leveraging the dagger to his neck, “Stay out of this, girl,” she warned.

“Get the hell away from him,” muttered Charlotte furiously.

The woman eyed the fire, calculating her next move. Suddenly, she threw Athos toward the fire and took off, running out of the room. Charlotte sprung forward, catching Athos and using the momentum from the throw to roll them away from the fire. She heard him groan.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” she slapped his face, hoping to get his attention, “Come on, are you ok? Are you hurt?” she hovered over him, checking his breathing and cupping his face in an attempt to elicit a reaction, “C’mon, it’s me, it’s d’Artagnan.”

“D’art…” came the bleary reply.

“Close enough,” she pulled him to his feet, swinging his arm around her shoulders and guiding him out of the house. 

With every step, he seemed to regain some sense. With relief, she realized he was not hurt, mostly disoriented from the smoke and slightly drunk. As soon as they reached the outside, she dragged him to a patch of grass, laying him down. She sprinted back to her mare, grabbing her water container. When she returned, she saw he had risen to his knees, staring aimlessly at the burning house. 

“Come on, look at me,” she begged, splashing water on his head and face, “What happened? Do you know that woman?” Athos seemed to stare at the house in a trance.

“Since we arrived I felt her presence everywhere, I thought I was imagining it.”

“Who? Athos, who?” she asked again. 

“My wife,” the daze continued, “She died five years ago now. By my orders,” his empty eyes made her shudder, “She was a cold-blooded murderer, so I had her taken from the house and hung from the branch of a tree.” She couldn’t tell if the water in his eyes were from tears or irritation from the smoke. 

“Look at me,” he wouldn’t, so she shook him, “Look at me!” she grabbed his lapels and turned him, “She’s not dead?”

“She’s not dead, Charlotte,” his voice seemed so small as he said this, so distraught and lost, “She survived,” he tried to curl in on himself.

“Was this her revenge?” wondered Charlotte, turning to look at the house. 

“It was my duty,” muttered Athos, grabbing her arms and staring at her eyes, “It was my duty to uphold the law. My duty to condemn the woman I love to death,” he curled his face into her shoulder, “I’ve clung to the belief that I had no choice. Five years learning how to live without her,” he turned to look at her again, staring at her intently, “And finally, finding a new reason to go on,” he sat back, moving her arms from around him, “What do I do now?” 

He fell backward, leaning on his elbows on the ground and staring hopelessly at the night sky.

“Stop it,” she ordered, leaning over him and lightly slapping him on the cheek, “That’s the alcohol, you know what to do.”

“Do I?” he turned his gaze toward her, but it still had that lost look in it.

“Yes, you do,” she said firmly, “Like you said before,” she helped him sit up, “You are ready to move on. You mourned,” she nodded to the house, “Got a fantastic bit of closure and confirmation that your wife was dangerous and deranged,” she placed her arms on his shoulders, forcing him to look at her, “And you found a new reason to go on. The Musketeers are your family no,” she shook him slightly, “So snap out of it! You are too good a man to let this consume you!”

He looked at her shocked but mulling over her words. Suddenly, he pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. Shocked, she hugged him back, letting him tuck his face into the spot between her neck and shoulder. She comforted him, stroking his head and whispering encouragements into his ear. When she felt him cry, she hugged him tighter, continuing her ministrations but increasing her praises and reassurances. He quieted but stayed curled around her. Suddenly, he lifted his face, staring at her with glistening eyes. 

“I do have a reason to go on,” he agreed, “Thank you for reminding me,” he released her finally, turning to gaze at the burned house, “You’re right. I can move on now.” 

She nodded, standing and offering him a hand. He took it, swaying slightly. As he stumbled, she swung her arm around his waist, steadying him with another hand on his chest. He nodded in thanks, grasping her hand and squeezing it.

“Let’s make camp,” she suggested, tugging him toward her mare, “Where’s…” at his point toward the stables, she spied his big black horse, “Ideas to make camp?” she asked him.

He nodded toward what sounded like a river. She nodded.

“Hope you don’t mind sleeping on the grass,” she sat him down, walking toward her mare. 

She led the horse to the stables, untacking her and placing her in a stall next to the other horse. After unpacking her sleeping gear and returning to their makeshift camp, she started a small fire for warmth. Tugging on Athos, she guided him to sit in front of the fire, pushing him to drink water. He obeyed, leaning against her shoulder in an obvious effort to seek comfort.

“When we wake up,” she started, “And when you’re sober,” she wrinkled her nose at him, “We’ll talk more,” at his nod, she sighed, “I need to tell you that I met your wife before.”

He either didn’t hear her or was too out of it to comprehend her words, otherwise, he would have said something stupid. A quick peek down at his face confirmed this, as he dozed lightly. Keeping his eyes open through sheer will, the fire and her gentle scratches on his head slowly lulled him into sleep. 

“I didn’t know she was your wife,” she whispered, looking down into the fire, “But I should’ve guessed she was a murderer,” she looked at his face again, “I think she works for the Cardinal,” as he succumbed into even deeper sleep, she laid him and arranged him into their makeshift bed, covering him with a blanket, “I liked her,” she admitted as she went about her task, “She was kind to me.”

A huge sigh escaped her lips. She looked at the fire again and resolved to stay awake through the night to keep watch. As her mind was currently wrought with activity, she didn’t think it’d be too difficult to ignore the temptation to sleep. 

When Athos woke, the first thing he registered was the pain in his head He groaned, trying to take a deep breath but erupting into coughs and taking note of the pain in his chest. 

“Easy,” he heard Charlotte’s voice above him, “Here,” he felt her arm wrap around his back, helping him sit up, “Drink,” he drank from the water she raised to his lips, squeezing his eyes at the effort. Finally, the pain resided. His eyes shot open as he remembered the night before.

“What,” his voice croaked out, rough with the smoke damage. He cleared his throat and tried again, “What happened?”

“What do you remember?” she asked, trying to gauge how much he remembered.

He looked at her then into the distance at the burned house, “I was drinking,” he started, slow to remember with his mind so groggy, “Then a fire started… no, she started the fire,” he recalled, reliving the memory, “She survived,” at her nod, he continued, “She was here, she tried to kill me?” again, Charlotte nodded, biting her lip in worry, “Then you arrived and spooked her,” he turned to look at her with light in his eyes, “You saved me.”

“You were a little too drunk to save yourself,” she brushed off his words, standing and returning to put out their fire, “I’m glad you’re well,” she turned quickly to examine him to verify her words, “You are well?” 

“Yes,” he sat up by himself, testing his body with a slight stretch, “I am,” he stood, continuing to stretch. She nodded and returned to packing up their small camp. “We should ride out soon.”

“We should,” she agreed, standing with a bundle, “When you feel up to it,” she walked toward her mare, tying up her equipment.

“I do,” he assured her, “We aren’t in a hurry, there’s no need to ride hard. I can handle a leisurely ride through the forest,” he grinned at her when she gave him a deadpan look.

“Whatever you say,” she mumbled to herself. The two finished their chores, saddling up the horses and continuing their journey.

“How far are we from Paris?” she asked him as they started on the path.

“About a day’s ride,” he gave her self-deprecating look, “Maybe two at our pace,” he paused, “Plenty of time,” he grinned at her, “To chat about your previous experience with my dead wife,” he turned to look at her expectantly.

“Oh yes,” she grumbled, “Glad to hear you remembered that bit from your near-death experience,” she sighed, fidgeting with her reins nervously, focusing on the path ahead. 

Athos waited patiently, letting her gather her thoughts. 

“I met her when I first got to Paris,” she blurted out. His eyebrows raised.

“Before the dinner with the king and queen…” he let his question, and his confusion, hang in the air.

“Yes,” she bit her lip, anticipating his anger at her next revelation, “In my first dinner with the Cardinal.”

Athos stopped his horse, staring at the ground and tensing. His gaze could have seared a hole into the dirt. 

“Let me make sure I understand,” he began, finally looking up, “In one of the weekly dinners you have with the man responsible for half the disasters we rescue the country from,” he raised his hand to halt her protest, “A man your uncle hates and has warned you against,” his eyes narrowed at her, “A man Aramis and Porthos have warned you about,” if possible, his frowned deepened, “A man I warned you to stay away from after telling you about some of his worst offenses,” his grip on the reins tightened, “At a dinner with that man…”

“I haven’t seen him in months,” she grumbled in protest, looking down, “I listened eventually.”

“At a dinner with that man,” he interrupted her, turning his horse toward her, “You met and befriended my murderess wife? Did I get that right?”

She flinched at his tone. “Yes, you did,” she looked ahead to the road, not stopping her mare. He followed. 

“And you didn’t think to mention a mysterious woman…” she snapped, turning her horse and stopping them both.

“Mention what, exactly, Athos?” she yelled, “That a man that comforted me after my father’s death, treated me with respect instead of condescension and encouraged and aided my search for his killer, introduced me to a woman who also showed me kindness and sympathy, who offered to teach me and listen to me, who became my friend…” she felt wetness on her cheeks.

She began scrubbing her face, turning away from him to hide her emotions. Suddenly, the fear that this would drive him away from her, that her stubbornness would isolate her from him and Aramis and Porthos, the friends that became her family, froze her. When a hand reached out and grabbed her's, trying to ease the white-knuckle grip she had on her reins, she looked up. Athos gazed at her, and though she could see the anger in his eyes, she also saw concern for her. 

“I didn’t know who she was,” she promised, desperately trying to get him to understand but also still angry that he would accuse her of hiding something so important. The conflicting emotions waged a war inside her.

“How could you know?” he said, squeezing her hand, “I am not angry with you, I am sorry I made you think so,” he said, “I am angry at her, for what she’s put me through and for involving you. I am furious at the Cardinal, for taking advantage of a girl searching for acceptance by using her as a political pawn against her father figure who happens to be his enemy,” he paused and took a breath, “I am angry at this rotten situation we seem to find ourselves in,” he winced, “And I am taking it out on you,” he finished apologetically.

She looked down, still blinking back tears. “Maybe if I wasn’t so naïve…” she blinked her eyes tightly. He tugged on his hands, getting her attention. 

“Don’t,” he stopped her self-beratement, “Don’t blame yourself for this. This is beyond what any normal person would imagine. This,” his anger reflected on his face briefly, “Normal folk do not go through this. This is beyond…” he turned away, seemingly at a loss for words, “No, Charlotte. Let’s be angry at those who deserve it, and we take it as a lesson for the future.”

She raised her eyes tentatively, “You don’t hate me?”

“Of course not,” he reassured, smiling and guiding them both back onto the path, “I admit, when you mentioned she befriended you, I was terrified she was manipulating you to get to me.”

“Maybe she was,” she agreed, remembering the look of surprise and frustration on the woman’s face when she threatened Athos, “Maybe I should continue to let her?” she turned to look at him for approval.

He looked at her, the thought spinning out various possibilities. That crooked grin she had come to adore stretched across his face. “Maybe you should.”


	7. Chapter 7

The three women laughed, hiding their grins behind their hands. Constance hid her bright red cheeks behind her wine, using the goblet and her hand to cover her mouth.

“It’s not that funny!” she defended against the other two women.

At her indignant expression, the other two burst into a new round of laughter, prompting giggles from Constance.

“It really is that funny!” insisted Charlotte, “God, your face!” 

She and Constance had just recounted the story from one of the Musketeer’s latest adventures involving some thugs kidnapping a baby and separating the newborn from his mother. The story of how Constance had posed as a nursemaid to infiltrate their hideout was quite entertaining. Ninon especially liked to hear about the part where Constance fought off several thugs using the fighting lessons from Charlotte with half her bodice undone and Aramis in the background holding the sleeping infant. Constance and Charlotte shared a look over their goblets of wine. Though they had left out a few key details, such as the fact that the baby they rescued was the now-presumed dead nephew of the king, they enjoyed being able to reminisce with their friend. 

In truth, chatting with her friends reassured Charlotte. After the business at Athos’ chateau, she and her three Musketeer friends seemed to face constant danger. Porthos’ barely escaped execution after waking up next to a dead man, framed in a plot aiming to destroy his childhood home. Then, a former Musketeer named Marsac, someone who was once a close friend of Aramis, appeared. He tried to kill the king, then focused his efforts to kill the Duke of Savoy, before narrowing his focus to her uncle. Finding out that Treville was involved in a plot that ended with so many good men dead devastated Charlotte; she had to rethink everything she thought she knew about honor. 

Her eyes darkened as she recalled Marsac. Her gaze flittered over to Constance. Guilt still tore at Charlotte at the thought that she had put Constance in danger. When she offered the spare room in Constance’s home to Marsac, she never dreamed he would try to force himself on her. When Charlotte intervened, he turned to attack her as well, though he training allowed him to fend him off and subdue him. She still remembered Athos’ face when he entered the small kitchen at Constance’s house to see Charlotte with a spectacular bruise forming on her forehead and cheek standing over a whimpering Marsac. Constance, facing toward the fireplace and breathing hard, had run out soon after. Looking at her friend now, she could see that the attempted attack on them had shaken her; her gaze went down and Charlotte bit her lip. 

Constance turned to look at her friend, noticing Charlotte’s sudden bout of quietness. She saw the guilt in Charlotte’s expression and guessed at where her mind wandered. She knew Charlotte friend blamed herself, often forgetting that she had also been attacked. Though the two had discussed the events at length, even including Athos in one discussion the night of the event, Charlotte would not forgive herself for putting Marsac in Constance’s life. Both Athos and Charlotte nearly killed the man, and even Aramis had renounced the man after the found out, but Charlotte’s guilt lingered. 

“Is there more to the story?” asked Ninon softly, picking up on the sudden change in mood from Charlotte. Said girl looked up in surprise.

“No, no,” she answered, smiling ruefully, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dampen the mood,” she picked up her wine glass again and sipped from it, “I am just reminded of several unfinished tales we have yet to tell you,” she put down her glass, frowning suddenly, “Sometimes it seems all of Paris hates the Musketeers.”

“There was that business with the Court of Miracles,” added Constance, supporting her friend, “Some nobleman, in an attempt to restore his family’s fortune, sought to blow up the entire court! And poor Porthos was implicated in the whole mess.”

“Implicated how?” asked Ninon.

“The man killed his son for trying to foil his plots,” explained Charlotte, gaze fixed on where she was swirling her wine, “Then framed Porthos for it.” The memories rushed through her head, as did more guilt at having doubted the man she loved like a brother. 

Once again, Constance sensed the dark place where her friend’s thoughts dwelled. 

“Despite some dark times,” she began, smiling as she grabbed Charlotte’s hand, “There has been some good! The queen adores Charlotte.” Charlotte snorted and smiled, returning the friendly hold and replacing her goblet on the table.

“The queen adores Constance,” revealed Charlotte, “Every time I see her, she tells me how grateful she is to have such a loyal friend and confidant. That she is relieved to not be at the mercy of gossiping hens upset with having a Spanish queen,” she rolled her eyes, “Those ladies can so airheaded.”

“It’s what culture has taught them to be,” defended Ninon, “Not everyone has to courage to go against what their society has dictated is the norm,” seeing the other two girls were chastised, she added, “Though I am glad the queen has some kind and friendly company. Their companionship can be tedious and quite hurtful,” she paused, “And rather boring.”

All three women laughed at that. 

“Tell us more, Constance, how are your new duties treating you?” asked Ninon.

“And was your husband able to set aside his jealousy and be happy for you?” added Charlotte.

“I adore working at the palace,” gushed Constance, “What’s more, I adore the queen. She is so kind and wise. Oh, and she loves Charlotte,” she said excitedly, making Charlotte blush, “So there are many times when the three of us sit and talk for hours!” 

“Truly?” Ninon seemed genuinely pleased with the development.

“Yes,” confirmed Charlotte, “The queen invites me frequently to the palace.”

“It drives the Musketeers mad with jealousy!” revealed Constance, laughing at Charlotte’s face.

“That Charlotte has the queen’s favor?” Ninon’s hackles seemed to rise, ready to defend Charlotte against injustice.

“Oh no, quite the opposite,” laughed Constance, “Their worried the queen is trying to steal Charlotte from them!” Ninon laughed.

“As they should!” she laughed again, “You and Charlotte are wonderful friends to have, they should covet your friendship jealously!”

“And how are your seminars going?” asked Charlotte.

“Very well,” Ninon smiled, “So many women eager to learn! It’s invigorating to be a part of such a group. Some of the more advanced groups have moved onto philosophy, it’s inspired the most interesting debates!”

“Truly?” asked Constance, happy for the woman.

“Oh yes,” she turned to Charlotte, smiling, “We read Machiavelli’s work at your recommendation. I think I understand your debates with the cardinal now, I see his argument with new eyes!”

Charlotte’s smile dropped off her face. Ninon and Constance noticed the change immediately, throwing her concerned looks.

“I wouldn’t put much credence in what I said,” explained Charlotte, grimacing slightly, “I think you were right about the cardinal,” she shrugged, “I think he’s merged the good of France with his own interests long ago and that’s allowed him to justify some questionable actions.”

“Don’t let his inadequacy stifle your learning or your ideals,” prompted Ninon, “I don’t think your argument was wrong. Sometimes a little unethical action helps bring about a world of good. But like with all things,” she finished her wine, “There is balance marked by a fine line,” she motioned to the young woman, “He may have crossed it, but I don’t think you ever will. Learn from his mistakes.”

Charlotte smiled and nodded. “The boys are thankful that my friendship with the cardinal is at an end,” she laughed, “I think I heard my uncle say a relieved prayer the other day,” she grinned at them, “It seems I was the key to his return to religion.”

They all laughed. After their dinner ended, Constance and Charlotte swung onto their horses and rode back to Paris from the Countess’ home. While on the road, their conversation turned more serious.

“Truly, there’s no need to feel guilty,” reassured Constance.

“I brought him into your life, Constance,” she muttered, ashamed.

“You were also attacked Charlotte,” Constance, “And technically, Aramis brought him into both our lives. Do you blame him?”

“What? Of course not!” 

“It’s no different.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” at Constance’s pointed look, Charlotte sighed, “Fine, Constance, yes, I’ll remember that. I make no promises but I’ll remember what you’ve said.”

Satisfied that her friend seemed to take her words to heart, Constance changed the topic, grinning wickedly, “How’s Athos?”

Charlotte’s head snapped up and her cheeks colored. She glared at her friend, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled, turning away.

“I’ve seen the looks you’ve sent each other,” prompted Constance, “You’re quite taken with each other.”

“He’s my mentor,” said Charlotte, “At most, he sees me as a sister, like Aramis and Porthos.”

“I think not,” scoffed Constance, “First off, neither Aramis nor Porthos look at you like Athos look at you,” Constance grinned, “I’d be worried if they did,” she laughed at Charlotte’s offended look, “Secondly, are you being purposefully dense?”

Charlotte’s expression turned indignant, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do!” countered Constance, laughing at her friend’s embarrassment, “He’s in love with you Charlotte.”

“No, he’s not,” Charlotte sighed, “He’s sworn off love and marriage.”

“Love undoes the best-made plans,” Constance’s kind smile flared a piece of hope in Charlotte’s chest.

“Can love grow in such a short time?” 

“I wouldn’t call the better part of a year short, especially with all the missions you’ve had with them,” reasoned Constance, “Those kinds of adventures create bonds,” she wrinkled her nose, “And you see so much of each other on those trips you take with them. I can’t imagine what making camp is like, you have no secrets! If you still find each other attractive with that level of proximity, love is a logical next step.”

“You’d lose that sense of awe at our missions the first time you made camp with then,” agreed Charlotte, laughing, “But you have a point.”

“Clearly,” the smug look on her face made Charlotte laugh, “You should save yourself time and just listen to me.”

“Who am I to argue with such wisdom?” the two arrived at Constance’s house. 

Constance dismounted, fixing her skirts. “Glad to see you’re learning!” the two laughed. Constance handed her friend the reins to her horse to return to the Musketeer garrison. “Will you be alright by yourself?”

“Honestly Constance, it’s like you don’t even know me,” scoffed Charlotte, “Besides, the garrison isn’t far.”

“And she won’t be alone,” came a male voice. Athos stepped out of the shadows of the house.

“Ah, Athos,” Constance’s Cheshire grin turned its full potency to Charlotte, who glared at her in return, “Lovely to see you.”

“What are you doing here?” asked Charlotte. Athos walked up to them, grabbing the reins from the horse.

“You didn’t return at your usual hour,” he said, swinging onto the horse’s back.

“I don’t need a minder,” she protested.

“I’m well aware,” came Athos’ response, “I was awake, and could use the company. I assumed you could as well.”

“How kind of you, I’m sure the ride back to the garrison would be lonely without you,” responded Constance cheekily, laughing at the confusing look Athos shot the two of them, “Goodnight!” the laughing woman walked back into her house. 

“What was that about?” asked the confused man.

“I really couldn’t tell you,” muttered Charlotte, kicking her mare forward.

“How was the dinner?” asked Athos, riding up beside her.

“Lovely,” Charlotte smiled, “I quite like her, the Comteess,” she confessed. 

“Another friendship with a noble lady, then?” he asked, entertained, “You seem to be collecting them.”

“I must be charming,” she joked, “Good company. You should be honored.”

“Honored indeed,” he teased her, amused at her, “Don’t forget us, peasants, on your rise to nobility.”

She suddenly got quiet, “You know you don’t have a reason to be jealous, right? Whatever friendships I may have the queens or countesses, you, Aramis, Porthos, and Constance, you’re family. You know that, right?” she asked worriedly. 

He looked at her in surprise, charmed by her sincerity. Her concern for her friends made affection bloom in his chest. 

“We know,” he said, grinning crookedly, ready to tease her to comfort her, “But I will admit we get a little jealous every now and then. You never invite us to these dinners!”

“No men allowed,” she teased back, grinning, “What did you do tonight?”

“We went to the tavern,” he told her, “Aramis and Porthos wanted to stay longer, gamble and drink, but, for some reason, it didn’t hold any appeal for me.”

She smiled happily. His drinking had reduced significantly since their return to Paris. Before, he drank large amounts frequently to quell the guilt he felt. Often, he would drink alone, separated from their friends. To hear that he had decided against a night of losing himself in a night of alcohol brought a smile to her face. 

“So, you went home?” 

“I walked around the city for a while,” he recounted his night, talking about his encounter with a group of children that he taught some sword fighting techniques to, “I felt safe doing so because they were using sticks instead of real steel. There was a little girl, she couldn’t have been more than 10 years old, and she was following this herd of boys demanding to be thought. If not for her red hair, I would have thought I was looking at you at that age,” his joy at interacting with the children showed on his face.

“I hope we run into them,” she confessed, “I’d like to meet that little girl.”

“I’m sure we will,” he reassured. 

They arrived at the garrison, handing their horses off to the stable hand. He raised his eyebrow at her.

“You’re not going to untack her?” he nodded at the mare.

“No,” she reddened, “I’m really tired,” she confessed, “I think Buttercup will forgive me for it this once.”

“You may have to bribe her with sugar cubes,” came his response, hiding his grin in his beard.

“You can’t scold me for spoiling her then tell me to spoil her,” she deadpanned, walking toward the stairs.

“Can’t I?” 

“You shouldn’t,” she quipped, “It’s not very nice.”

He scoffed, “Because I’m known for my kindness.”

Her jovial mood lightened for a second, her eyes softening, “You should be. You are very kind, when it counts.”

He looked up in shock at that. She smiled at him, coming closer and kissing his cheek. 

“We should head to bed,” he cleared his throat at his clumsy wording, “We need to sleep, we have a day of training tomorrow.”

She nodded, cheeks reddening at his stumbled words, “We should,” she looked behind him at the gate, “You aren’t going home now, are you?” 

“Of course,” he answered.

“Stay here,” she quickly followed up with, “There’s plenty of empty rooms here.”

“But none are assigned to me.” She rolled her eyes.

“No one will miss it for a night, don’t be so uptight,” she started climbing the stairs, beckoning him to follow.

“Treville has use of them….”

“Sure, he does, for this exact situation,” she countered, “If he says anything, I’ll tell him you used it after escorting me home,” she held out her hand, “Stop being stubborn.”

After hesitating for a moment, he followed her. “I am blaming you if this gets me into any trouble.”

Her laugh echoed as in the quiet courtyard.

The following morning found them up a few hours after dawn, eating breakfast and readying themselves for a day of training. They quietly conversed in the early morning, exchanging quips or nudging each other teasingly. When they finished their breakfast, the two stood and walked to the training yard. Training continued, with Athos pushing and correcting Charlotte’s fighting and technique. 

“You’ve improved tremendously,” praised Athos, parrying her strike, “Your one stubborn mistake,” she dove in heavily, “Is your emotion,” he deflected her blow. Her over-commitment to the strike left her wide open to a kick, which sent her sprawling, “Still too much heart.”

Her growl made him bark out a laugh. He extended a hand, offering to help her up. Grinning, she took the hand but pulled him down, delighted in his shocked expression as he tumbled to the ground. They wrestled for a moment until she used a move Porthos taught her, flipping Athos by slipping her thigh under his. She grappled him into submission.

“Yield!” she ordered, smiling down at him. 

He grinned at her, “I yield.” Her triumphant whoop at the sky kept a smile on his face. “Well done. Did Porthos teach you that move?” She nodded excitedly as they stood, “Much better executed than the last time,” he savored the fieriness that darkened her eyes.

“Practice,” was her simple response as she smugly crossed her arms. 

God, he loved her. The thought crossed his mind as he gazed at her. Her brown hair tied up in a braid, strands disheveled and sticking out from their sparring, and her passionate, fiery caramel eyes staring at him in a challenge. The thought surprised him as much as it frightened him. He knew he had developed feelings for her, but the intensity shocked him. After his last disastrous relationship, he wasn’t ashamed to admit this scared him. He tried distancing himself from her but found he couldn’t bear being away from her for more than a day. He ached without her. Unlike his relationship with Milady, this wasn’t obsessive or all-consuming. With Milady, their love was tainted by jealousy and a mean-spirited kind of passion, one that eclipsed everything else. With Charlotte, he finally realized what love truly was, but he was wary to involve her in his dreary life. It was enough that she had gotten a glimpse of it when his estate burned down.

“Keep up the good work,” he finished. He felt like a young boy again, stumbling over his words. He shook his head, letting the movement clear his head. “Let’s go, we have to escort the king’s carriage through the city today.”

Her face lit up, “I can come with you?”

He smiled back, “Let anyone stand in our way.”

Screams tore through the crowds. Treville and d’Artagnan, seeing the disturbance and the girl on the floor, galloped towards the royal carriage.

“Stay inside, your majesty,” yelled out Charlotte at the queen. 

“It’s not safe, ride on, now!” yelled her uncle. Charlotte and her uncle dismounted suddenly surrounded by other Musketeers, including Porthos. 

Charlotte ran to the girl, turning her over. She searched the young girl for weapons, finding only a scroll.

“Was she armed?” asked her uncle hovering over her shoulder. 

“Only with this,” she grabbed the scroll, opening it.

“Let us through, I know her!” Constance’s voice pierced the crowd. Charlotte turned, instructing the guards to let her through. When the guards hesitated, her uncle waved Constance through.

“What’s her name?” asked Treville as Constance sprinted and knelt next to Charlotte, looking over the girl.

“Therese Dubois,” she answered as Charlotte read over the parchment.

“What was she doing?” asked Porthos, also kneeling.

“I don’t know,” breathed out Constance, shocked. 

“Oh god,” breathed Charlotte. Constance looked over, reading the parchment she held in her hands. 

The guards and crowd swarmed around them. Charlotte’s world seemed to tilt suddenly. She recognized the teachings on the parchment. She looked up at Constance, handing her the parchment.

“What is this?” Constance looked at it in confusion, looking for her other friend, “Fleur?” she called out, “What does this mean?” She stood up, looking for her friend who seemed to have disappeared, “Fleur?” she called out again.

“Charlotte?” Treville shook d’Artagnan’s shoulder, “What is it?” 

“I... need to go, now,” she turned and sprinted into the crowd, dragging Constance with her and ignoring shouts of her name.

“What the hell? Charlotte?!” Constance cried out.

“Look at this, Constance,” hissed out Charlotte, “Tell me this doesn’t look at all familiar to you!”

Constance read the parchment again, recognition suddenly flittering through her, “Ninon?”

“Yes,” hissed out Charlotte, “This will spread trouble, we need to warn her!”

“And Fleur?”

“Shit,” cursed Charlotte, “We need to find her. Her disappearance will make this worse.”

As soon as Charlotte returned to the garrison, Aramis, Porthos, and Athos descended upon her, grabbing her elbow and spirting her away to her room. 

“What were you thinking, running like that?” scolded Porthos, sitting next to her, “It was mighty suspicious.”

“I can’t imagine what compelled you,” added Aramis, pacing in the room. He sighed, “Did you know the girl?”

“The dead girl? No,” she sighed, “Not well, at least. I met her for a brief moment through a mutual acquaintance.”

“Tell us,” said Athos, moving from his reclined position on the wall and kneeling in front of her, “We can’t help if we don’t know what’s going on.”

“I’ve only known her a month or so. She was one of Ninon’s… The Comtesse de’ Larroque’s students,” clarified Charlotte, “So was Fleur, Constance’s cousin… or whatever she is,” Charlotte muttered the last part, “She takes an interest in young girls, teaches them to read and write.”

Athos, familiar with the countess from her friendship with Charlotte, nodded

“Many enlightened nobles show kindness to their servants,” prompted Aramis.

“No, this was more than that,” corrected Charlotte, looking at them. She bit her lip nervously, “Ninon educates women. She teaches them Greek and Latin, how to read the stars and even human anatomy. Many young girls go in secret,” she turned away from them, suddenly ashamed, “You know how it is for young women.” 

“We do,” comforted Athos, laying a hand on her knee and squeezing, “But that girl, Fleur, is missing.”

“Missing?” asked Charlotte, “What do you mean?”

“Her father filed a report, saying he couldn’t find her,” explained Aramis.

Charlotte stood up angrily, “Ridiculous!”

“We have to tell Treville,” interrupted Athos. He faced her fiery eyes.

“Fine.”

Charlotte accompanied the three and her uncle to an audience with the king. After the monarch welcomed a priest named Sestini, the subject turned to the disappeared girl.

“Your majesty,” began Treville, “A young woman, Fleur Baudin, has gone missing, a friend of the girl who died this morning,” he paused, looking at his niece, “We have reason to believe the Comtesse d’Larroque may know something of her whereabouts.” 

“What makes you say so?” questioned the queen.

“She regularly attended the Comtesse’s salon and seems enthralled by her,” finished Treville.

Charlotte’s mouth dropped open, “That’s ridic…” she was interrupted by a sharp elbow in her stomach courtesy of Aramis.

“That’s very, very shocking,” began the cardinal, “We can’t have the Comtesse abducting young women and spiriting them away to her boudoir.” 

“Whatever are you implying, Cardinal?” asked the queen. She made eye contact with Charlotte echoing her anger but begging her with her eyes to remain calm. 

“There have been ugly rumors, your majesty, “ began Richelieu, “It’s all scurrilous nonsense, I’m sure.”

“And Ninon is so very pretty, I could listen to her nonsense all day,” added the king with a smile. Treville let out a chuckle while the queen gave him an unimpressed look. “Handle the matter discreetly,” he ordered, “The Comtesse is from a very distinguished family, I don’t want her upset unduly.”

“You are too generous, your majesty,” complimented the cardinal.

“Yes, I know, it is a weakness,” the king answered.

Charlotte grit her teeth, grinding them. Her jaw felt sore already. She sensed some nefarious plot behind the cardinal’s words. As soon as they were dismissed, she turned and all but marched out of the room ignoring the hissed whispers of her name. She navigated through the palace’s hallways, eventually entering the courtyard where their horses stood waiting. Barreling down the steps, she almost reached her mare when a hand reached out and spun her around to face Treville, Aramis, Porthos, and Athos.

“What?” she snarled.

“You need to calm down,” lectured Treville.

“You may be too close to this,” added Athos.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” said Porthos.

Aramis tried to curl an arm around her. Their condescension made her head spin. 

“Maybe you four need to re-evaluate yourselves,” she snarled again, “You find out a woman is educating other women, and your first thought is that she kidnapped one of her students?” she let that sit for a moment, “Maybe you’re the blind ones,” she ripped her arm out of Treville’s grasp and her shoulder away from Aramis.

“She’s your friend,” began Athos, “But you can’t…”

“But nothing!” Charlotte snapped at him, “She deserves the same benefit of the doubt as any other man,” she stressed the last word, glaring at them, “In this situation.”

“Should you be handling this case…” her glare stopped Treville in his tracts.

“Seeing as none of you,” she hissed that you, “Are able to see this without prejudice, I think I have no choice.” She turned, reaching her mare and swinging up onto her back, “I’m going to see Ninon and ask her about this,” she glared at them, “Maybe you should follow my example!”

She galloped off. Once she reached Ninon’s chateau, she halted and handed off her mare to the stable hands before jogging inside. Having heard her friends behind her, she knew they were not far behind.

“Mademoiselle d’Artagnan!” called the delighted voices at the entrance. Two women moved to greet her, “We were not expecting you today.”

“Hello Lucie, hello Maribel,” she greeted the girl with a kiss on the cheek, moving to also greet Maribel, “I need to see the Comtesse,” she explained, “It’s urgent.”

“Indeed, it is,” Aramis’ voice sounded behind her, making her groan, “We are here on Musketeer business.”

“Ignore him,” she implored the two women, “I need to see Ninon.” The two girls eyed the three men behind her warily. “They’re with me, please, it’s important.” Lucie nodded, taking her hand and guiding her inside. All four followed the two into the hall. Before they walked inside, Charlotte turned back to glare at them, “Don’t embarrass me.”

They walked, entering the hall. Immediately, three girls called out Charlotte’s name in glee, running up to hug her. Meanwhile, the three men looked around, studying their surroundings. The room looked like a library and was filled with reading women. The three girls that ran up to Charlotte started firing out questions, ignoring her questions after Ninon’s whereabouts. Suddenly, Athos’ voice sounded out.

“Does anyone here know the whereabouts of Mademoiselle Fleur Baudin?” he asked, calling out into the gallery.

“Athos,’ she warned through hissed teeth, turning to reprimand him.

“If you have questions, monsieur, address them to me,” sounded out Ninon’s voice.

Charlotte turned to her immediately, sighing out a quick “Ninon” before hugging the woman.

“It’s lovely to see you Charlotte, the Comtesse smiled at her friend.

“Comtesse de Larroque,” called out Athos. Once again, Charlotte turned angry eyes at him. He found himself taken aback at her reaction, “We are here on behalf of the king. My name is…”

“I know who you are,” began the Comtesse, holding her friend’s arm, “Even if Charlotte hadn’t told me who you are, I have often seen you at court,” she smirked, smiling at Charlotte, “You are as handsome as I remember,” she tugged on Charlotte’s hand, pulling her friend closer as if to whisper in her ear.

“Stop it, Ninon,” warned Charlotte.

“There is a melancholy aspect your look that is quite intriguing,” Ninon continued, eyes directed at Athos but speaking to Charlotte, “You would remind of Charlotte, but I suspect the melancholy is probably only mental vacancy.”

Aramis’ amused expression and Porthos’ chuckle exasperated Charlotte, who grabbed Ninon’s hand and dragged her backward, “Can you please listen for one second?”

“I hope not,” answered Athos, “But forgive our intrusion…”

“I will not forgive it,” quipped Ninon, who smiled at Charlotte’s distressed groan and ignored her tug, “This is a place of scholarship, where women’ can enjoy each other’s company without the crude attentions of men. I would have thought you knew that, as Charlotte has spoken enough of you that I thought she would have told you of our haven,” her eyes narrowed, “What is it you want?” The three men suddenly looked chastised. 

Charlotte tugged on her hand again, “We are looking for Fleur Baudin,” she offered.

“Yes, she has run away from her family and they are anxious,” completed Athos, looking at Charlotte. 

“Anxious to marry her into a life of domestic slavery, no doubt,” rebutted Ninon.

“For the love of god, Ninon, please,” begged Charlotte, “Please, let’s take this somewhere private?”

Ninon turned to look at her friend, suddenly realizing how distressed she looked. Porthos glanced at the bird hanging from Ninon’s bodice recognizing it from a necklace of Charlotte’s he knew came from this Comtesse. 

“Your broach,’ he asked as they walked, “What does it mean?”

Ninon glanced curiously at Charlotte, who blushed and stepped next to her, taking her hand. 

“It is a wren, a bird that cannot be caged,” she explained, staring at her friend, “A symbol of hope and freedom.”

“A symbol of your own dreams and ambitions, I would imagine,” added Aramis.

Delighted, Ninon turned to look at the man, “Ah, we have a romantic in our midst,” she smiled at the man, motioning to him with her hand, “Observe, ladies, the remarkable phenomenon, a man of wisdom and perception!”

Aramis seemed to eat this up, “If by romantic you mean a man who gladly acknowledges the superiority of the female sex, then,” he paused, waving his hand from his forehead gallantly, “I accept the description.”

“Your charm won’t work here,” Ninon grinned at him, “We are quite immune.”

“We are not here to discuss your beliefs,” Athos started but suddenly caught Charlotte’s angry and hurt expression.

“We are looking for Fleur Baudin,” she interrupted, stepping in front of Ninon to grab her attention, “Can we please,” she stressed the word, “Go somewhere private to discuss this?”

At Charlotte’s pleading expression, Ninon nodded, leading them to another room connected to the library. On the way there, she felt the need to add, “I’ve already told you she’s not here.”

“Then you won’t mind if we search your house?” asked Athos.

She stopped walking, “On the contrary, I mind very much,” her face turned serious as she gazed at the Musketeer.

“I could insist,” persisted Athos.

“Or you could take my word,” she turned to look at Charlotte, who looked troubled by the exchange, “or Charlotte’s.” She resumed walking.

They reached a more private chamber connected to the library, where Charlotte immediately turned to the Comtesse. “Ninon, I need you to answer me honestly, is Fleur here?”

“Do you not trust me?” asked the Comtesse.

“You know I do,” Charlotte turned to look at her three friends, analyzing, “If you need to talk with me privately, I can send them away.”

“Don’t be silly, I have nothing to hide,” Ninon approached the Musketeers again, grinning as she stood in front of Athos, “Am I right? Is there an inner sadness that informs the beauty of your features?” she turned around, waling leisurely toward Charlotte, “I have asked this of Charlotte a number of times, but she refuses to discuss anything about you,” she suddenly faced him again, “Answer me honestly and I shall allow you to search my house.”

He turned to Charlotte, who couldn’t read the emotion in his eyes. 

“We all have our deep secrets and hidden emotions, Comtesse,” he responded, not breaking eye contact with Charlotte, “Allow me to keep mine to myself.”

“A barely adequate answer,” Ninon glanced at Charlotte, realizing the girl kept trying to speak to her privately, “But I am feeling indulgent. Charlotte, follow me, you can bring your Musketeer friends if you please.”

Charlotte sent them a pleading look to leave her alone with her friend. Athos sighed but nodded, signaling for her to follow the other woman. Charlotte immediately brightened, jogging to catch up with her. 

“Well, if that wasn’t matchmaking, I don’t know what is,” said Aramis, gazing at the three.

“You think?” added Porthos, while Athos looked at the two in confusion.

“They’ve clearly talked about Athos during their dinners,” began Aramis throwing an arm around Athos, “About how handsome he is and the source of his, what did she call it?” Aramis turned to Athos, “The melancholy that informs the beauty of your features?”

“I thought she couldn’t stand him,” contributed Porthos, “I got the impression she was giving Athos some kind of shovel talk, warning him off of d’Artagnan.”

“One day, we’ll sit down, and, uh, I’ll explain women to you,” Aramis joked.

“Both of you, enough,” reprimanded Athos, wishing to change the topic away from this dangerous talk, “We are here with work to do.”

“Charlotte’s taking care of it.”

The two women passed by every room in the house. As soon as they reached Ninon’s bedchamber, Charlotte turned the other woman. 

“What are you thinking?” she asked, “Leading us on like this? You need to be smart about this! Cooperate!”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” pacified Ninon, “Except maybe not push you into that man’s arms earlier, he is quite handsome and seems very enamored with you. Can’t think why you’re hesitating.”

“Ninon!” exclaimed Charlotte, exasperated, “Please! Something is going on; the cardinal seems too keen to pin Fleur’s disappearance on you. Something is wrong.”

“She’s not here,” Ninon said again, “There’s no need to worry.”

“If she is, and the cardinal finds out, he could use that as an excuse to stop your seminars, maybe even arrest you,” warned Charlotte, walking with her friend. 

“I don’t know what’s going on,’’ said Ninon, “But I promise you, I can’t help you.”

“That is such a non-answer, Ninon, I swear…”

The two kept walking through the home, eventually reuniting with the three men they had abandoned earlier.

“There, she has searched every room in my house,” stated Ninon, opening her arms to release Charlotte’s elbow, “And I have returned her to you, safe and sound.”

“We would have taken you at your word,” insisted Athos, “It was you who insisted on the search.”

“Fleur Baudin is not here,” reprimanded Ninon, “I don’t know where she is. Charlotte was here just three days ago and she just searched my home, she can verify what I’m telling you.” They exchanged unbelieving looks and shot a glance at Charlotte, which seemed to infuriate Ninon, “Do you know how many husbands, fathers, lovers, brothers, come here looking for their lost girls? It can never be that these women choose to leave of their own free will.”

She glared at them. Charlotte took her hand, gazing at her. 

“When has Charlotte ever left unhappy? When has she returned to you with anything but delight and new friendships? Why must it always be that Ninon de Larroque has corrupted innocent young women?” the Comtesse continued, “I would think you would be delighted that Charlotte has found like-minded women to share her passions and intellect with, instead of treating her haven with such suspicious.”

“Theresa and Fleur were far below you in status, there were not in a position to make a decision of their own free will,” countered Athos seriously. Charlotte’s head shot up to stare at him in bewilderment.

“I view all women as equals, no matter what the circumstances of their birth,” argued Ninon.

“You have the money and position to indulge such whims,” he turned to gaze at Charlotte, suddenly realizing what the conversation must sound like to her, “Look outside your window and tell me everyone is equal,” he hoped that last part would help her understand his point. 

“You accuse me of hypocrisy,” Ninon’s voice lowered, betraying her anger.

“Thank you for your help,” Athos wrapped up the conversation, seeing the hurt and anger in Charlotte’s expression and wishing to escape the situation.

“Will I see you again?” Ninon directed this question at Charlotte.

“Why do you wish to see her again?” asked Athos, stepping closer to Charlotte.

“A friend can’t ask to see a friend?” snapped Charlotte, “Or am I a helpless low-class girl, being corrupted the rich, beautiful and powerful Comtesse?” 

Athos, Aramis, and Porthos all looked taken aback by her words. They had never had this anger directed at them before. Aramis gaped in shock, while Athos actually stepped back as if recoiling.

“d’Artagnan,” started Porthos, wanting to explain their point of view.

“Yes, Comtesse,” interrupted Charlotte, turning to her friend, “I will be here whenever you wish.”

“Come dine with me tonight? We can talk more about what we were discussing earlier today?” the subtle hint that they would discuss the cardinal’s agenda caught Charlotte’s attention who nodded and swept away into the hallway.

The three men stood frozen to their spots.

“If I may,” began the Comtesse, gazing at them, “I can see you love Charlotte dearly,” they nodded in agreement, “Charlotte has told me about how much she loves and values you. She would be lost without you,” she explained, “But she is still isolated from society in many ways because of her choices. Do not begrudge her for being protective of one of the only outlets she has to escape those judgements,” just before she turned to leave, she finished with, “You are invited to dinner, monsieurs, I am sure Charlotte would enjoy having you there. As for you,” she narrowed in on Athos, “For the love of god, put everyone out of our misery and confess your feelings for her, it’s driving us to distraction.”

She departed. The three men stood speechless once again until Porthos muttered a quick, “d’Artagnan” and the sprinted out to follow her.


	8. Chapter 8

When they finally caught up to Charlotte, she was chatting with the girls in the salon. They heard vague whispers of the conversation, but opted not to drop in. A quick glance at her face showed her anger remained; intruding now would only set her off. Instead, Aramis nodded towards the entrance, signaling they should regroup there. Porthos nodded, headed over, while Athos hesitated for a moment, glancing at Charlotte before being dragged off by Aramis.

“She’s going to be angry at us,” said Aramis.

Porthos nodded in agreement, “Furious. Did you see her face?”

“We deserve it,” said Aramis shrugging.

“We do?” asked Athos, turning to him and removing his arm from his shoulders.

“Oh, do we,” muttered Porthos, waving an arm at the hall, “We come into one of her friend’s homes, completely ignore her attempts to direct the encounter and mitigate the situation...” he began, though Aramis quickly picked up where he left off.

“We accuse her friend of crimes, ignore their combined explanations, and then you,” he poked Athos in the chest, “Accuse Charlotte of being an ignorant, naïve, silly little peasant and the Comtesse of being some malevolent, radical, witch noblewoman.”

“When clearly, there’s some sort of plot being struck by the cardinal,” finished Porthos.

“Glad you’ve realized,” came Charlotte’s icy voice. They turned to look at her. Her crossed arms and frown made the wince. “Shall we go? We have business to attend to.”

They all walked out toward the main entrance, exiting and reclaiming their horses. As they mounted and took off toward the city center, Porthos tried softening their fourth member.

“I can see why you like her,” he offered, smiling at Charlotte, “She’s fiery, just like you.”

“She’s a good friend,” muttered Charlotte, not looking at them, “Even if she is blinded by her privilege sometimes, she just wants to help women,” she glared at the through the slit of her eyes.

“Are you going to dinner with her tonight?” asked Aramis, trying to change the subject, though this seemed to enrage her further. 

“Need to come babysit me?” she snarled at them. This time, she didn’t even glance at them.

“Can I come with you?” asked Athos. Both Aramis and Porthos winced. Charlotte turned her icy glare toward him, her lips disappearing in a thin line. 

“Of course,” she hissed out, “God forbit I fall to her evil charms without a man there to protect me.” She spurred her mare forward, sending her into a gallop to leave them behind.

“That’ll take a while to smooth over,” said Aramis, grimacing.

“That one’s not on me,” clarified Porthos, pointing at Athos, “You fix it.”

Athos sighed and pinched the top of his nose with his fingers, wondering when this had gotten so out of hand. 

Charlotte avoided them the rest of the day. Not even Treville knew where she was. When the time came to ride to the Comtesse’s home, she mysteriously showed up at the stables. As she saddled her mare, Athos ventured into the stables, having already prepared his horse. He stared at her for a moment, taking in the tense shoulders and tight jaw, before leading his horse out. He mounted and waited, trying to work through his thoughts and figure out how to talk to her. She exited the stables already mounted, ducking to dodge the stall roof.

“You shouldn’t do that, your horse could rear,” cautioned Athos. The glare he received in return made him sigh, “Charlotte, please, just listen.

She ignored him and kept trotting. He knew she didn’t care whether he followed her or not. He tried again, calling out her name.

“We didn’t mean any insult!” she swerved left. Her mare’s smaller size made sharp turns easy, while his horse’s bulk made that sharp corner unsettling, “Can you stop, please!”

To his relief, she slowed down, waiting until he trotted next to her, “If you say anything against Ninon, I swear…”

“I like her,” he blurted out, then winced, “Sorry. I meant, I can see why you’re friends. She loves you dearly.”

The anger in Charlotte’s eyes dimmed lightly and she nodded at his words. “Yes, we are very similar.”

“In some ways,” he agreed, anticipating her look, “But not in others. Through no fault of her own,” he preempted, “She has been blinded by her wealth and status and the benefits that privilege has afforded her. You have not.”

She nodded reluctantly, “We’ve talked about that before,” she admitted.

“I know the cardinal is up to something,” Charlotte turned disbelieving eyes at him, “I don’t know what, but it worries me. It worries all of us mostly because, it involves someone you are close to,” he felt he was finally finding the right words to express his worries.

“Just because Ninon’s different and doesn’t fit the typical type of noblewoman…”

“Charlotte, stop, that doesn’t have anything to do it with,” he implored her to listen, “We are all worried, I am worried, that because the cardinal is targeting a woman that spurns societal constraints for women, he will target you as well,” he paused to let that sink in, “Or at least target you as a byproduct of your friendship with Ninon.”

Charlotte stayed silent, looking forward as they rode ahead. She nodded. “That’s possible,” she narrowed her eyes when she turned to look at him, “That doesn’t explain your treatment of her,” she turned back to look at the path in front of them, “If it had been a friend of any of you, or a male friend of mine, your immediate reaction would have been trust instead of suspicion.”

“You’re right,” he admitted, “Our mistrust started with the death of the girl, Theresa, then with the disappearance of Fleur Baudin. We didn’t stop second-guess that suspicion, however, and we should have,” he stopped, looking at her, “We let appearances guide us, and it may have cost us Ninon’s trust.”

Charlotte nodded, sighing. “I hope we can get her to open up tonight,” she hesitated, “I think she knows where Fleur is. I think she’s hiding her to save her from an unwanted marriage,” she bit her lip, “I just need her to know she can trust us.”

“I will do what I can to help,” he paused, “If I may offer a suggestion?” She nodded. “What if we take her to the morgue, show her Theresa’s body?”

Charlotte considered the idea. “It may make the situation a bit more real for her.”

“I agree,” suddenly, he grinned at her, “I’ll follow your lead tonight, this is your territory and your friend. You’re in charge.”

Her answering grin made his heart melt. The frozen pit at the bottom of stomach that had formed the moment she had turned her anger against him slowly unthawed, finally releasing him and allowing him to relax. The two arrived at the chateau and left their horses with the stable hand. Charlotte guided Athos into the estate, winding through hallways until she led them into a library. 

“She’ll meet us here,” she informed him, walking toward the rows of book and perusing. He joined her, also gazing at the books.

“Quite the collection,” he mentioned, gently running his finger along the spines as he read the titles. Charlotte nodded.

“It’s vast, I love sitting here and picking out books,” she confessed, smiling, “Between you and the Comtesse, I discovered a newfound love for reading.”

He smiled at her, happy to see her so at ease in the room. Moving to stand behind her, her looked over her shoulder to see what book she grabbed. 

“Shakespeare?” he asked, surprised.

“Ninon introduced me to his works,” she confided, “There’s many I dislike. I can’t stand Romeo and Juliet,” she reached out grabbed a book, “But I quite like some of the others.”

“Really?” he asked her, grabbing the book in her and turning it to see the title, “Macbeth?”

She shrugged. “I like Lady Macbeth.” He laughed nervously.

“Don’t look so worried,” came Ninon’s voice, “Unless I’ve interrupted something,” she looked between the two of them, “Did you kiss her? Is that what I’ve interrupted?” she directed her question to Athos.

Both turned bright red and spring apart. Charlotte coughed and replaced the book while Athos moved his hand through his hair. 

“Evening, Ninon,” greeted Charlotte, moving to hug her friend, “Stop with the matchmaking,” she hissed in her friend’s ear.

Ninon merely smiled at her. “Oh, I’m merely helping you along. If you didn’t want witty conversation, you wouldn’t have come.”

“We are better equipped to fight you off, this time,” added Athos, recovering from his embarrassment to greet the Comtesse with a kiss to the hand.

“Shall we dine?” asked Ninon. Athos made eye contact with Charlotte, looking for her approval for his next move; at her nod, he proceeded. 

“If I may,” interrupted Athos, “There’s something we wanted to show you first.”

Ninon looked to Charlotte for approval. At her nod, the Comtesse waved her hand forward, “Lead the way.”

“Charlotte, where are we?” asked Ninon in a whisper.

“Just follow us,” answered Charlotte. 

Ninon gave a gasp of horror when Therese Dubois’ body was revealed. She turned accusing eyes toward Charlotte.

“Why are you showing me this?” she demanded.

“Don’t you feel responsible?” countered Athos. Charlotte briefly touched his arm in warning.

“I gave her an education, clothing, and food,” she was angry and it showed in her voice, “Is that a crime?”

“It can be,” replied Charlotte, gently, “If you encouraged the reckless act that cost her life.”

“I did no such thing,” replied Ninon angrily, turning back to the girl on the slab.

“Ninon,” Charlotte reached out to grab the other woman’s hands, “You don’t know that you didn’t.”

Ninon looked up at her, glaring. “Why, because I’m blinded by privilege?”

“Encouraging a peasant to voice her opinions is very different than encouraging a noble. You know that,” explained Charlotte, “If her pamphlet discussed undoing the social classes, she would have been arrested for treason. This is about the differences of classes, not women’s rights.” At this, Ninon looked down at the girl.

“I was fond of her.”

“For you, remaining unmarried presents no major difficulty to your life,” continued Charlotte, “I can do it because I have my uncle, who supports me. If Therese were running away from a marriage, she would not have my luck. Work for single, lower class women is sparse, unsafe, and often unsavory.”

“I feel pity and sorrow, but not guilt,” snapped Ninon, taking her hands away from Charlotte’s, “I teach women to have an opinion. What they chose to do with that opinion is their business.”

“Ninon,” began Charlotte, ready to argue the point, but she stopped and sighed, looking at Athos, “We didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“Yes, you did,” Ninon looked at Athos angrily, turning back to look at the dead girl, “She was too young,” she gently touched the side of her face, “Please,” she signaled to the worker in the morgue, “Cover her face.” 

As the group turned to leave, another body caught Athos’s eye. 

“Do you know him?” asked Charlotte.

“A thief,” explained Athos, looking down at the body, “He escaped me this morning, before the accident occurred.” He turned to look at the worker, “How did he die?”

“No idea,” said the man, “I’ve had a dozen fresh cadavers already. He’ll have to wait his turn.”

“Look after his bag, I’ll send for it in the morning,” ordered Athos. 

On their walk back to the Comtesse’s home, Athos listened attentively to the two women’s discussion. They continued discussing the matter of social class inequality, though Charlotte had trouble convincing the Comtesse that encouraging women to speak out and rebel without also changing social dynamics was dangerous. 

“May I ask,” started Athos, “Do you dislike men?”

Ninon looked up, surprised by the question. Charlotte laughed. 

“I have had many suitors, some really quite acceptable,” began the Comtesse, 

“It’s marriage that’s the problem,” interrupted Charlotte, frowning, “Women have no rights in it.” Ninon nodded in agreement. 

“I believe marriage to be a curse. I will not submit to it,” Ninon continued, “I am a wealthy woman. But on my wedding day, everything that I own becomes the property of my husband, including my body. I will not be owned by anyone.”

“Even unmarried, autonomy is almost impossible for a woman,” said Charlotte, walking ahead of them, “Fathers, brothers, uncles, even in laws, can govern a girl’s future with no thought to her own hopes for her future. Marriage just makes that leash that much tighter.”

“As it happens I agree,” added Athos, “Marriage is not as wonderful as everyone says,” he paused, stopping their walk, “I was married once and now I’m done with romance.”

Charlotte ducked her head to hide how his comment hurt her. Ninon cocked her head in surprise.

“It ended badly?” she asked. Athos nodded in response. 

“You shouldn’t shut yourself off just because of her,” murmured Charlotte, raising her head and gently touching his arm, “You deserve happiness, whatever form that takes.” With a squeeze of his arm, she resumed walking toward the entrance of Ninon’s home, leaving the other two behind.

“I am sorry for it,” added Ninon, “I want equality between the sexes, not hate,” she hesitated, “I am also sorry for Charlotte,” she looked up at her friend as the other girl walked away, “You love each other. I can see it clearly.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t give her what she deserves. I am tainted,” he also turned to look at Charlotte as she walked away.

“She grew very angry with you today for trying to dictate her actions and choices,” Ninon retorted, “I would stop trying make such a decision for her. Let her decide what she wants and deserves.”

Suddenly, they heard a loud “GET OUT!” coming from the main entrance of the chateaus. Charlotte took off in a run, meeting Aramis at the door. She ran inside the house while Athos and Ninon caught up.

“Trouble,” said Aramis, jabbing his thumb toward the house, “It’s the cardinal’s men!” 

They took off, following Charlotte at a run. Ninon gasped when she saw the disorder in her home.

“My works!” she yelled, “Stop!”

Athos motioned her to stay back.

Aramis and Charlotte fought off the men attempting to hurt the ladies in the salon, with Charlotte grouping the young women together to keep them away from the soldiers. Athos angrily grabbed a solider, punching him away from the girl he was dragging by the hair.

“Where is your authority for this?” the solider attempted to punch him back, so Athos twisted his arms and swung him, headfirst, into a table. 

The brawling continued, with the three Musketeers using whatever was at their disposal to fight off the soldiers.

“We found them!” came a voice behind the shelves of books. Another solider appeared from a small entrance to what seemed to be a hallway. Behind him walked out young girls. “Sleeping in a hidden chamber.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, looking at Ninon in a panic when she realized where Ninon had hidden the runaway girls. They brought the girls to the Comtesse.

“Comtesse de Larroque, on the orders of the Cardinal, you are under arrest for the abduction of Fleur Baudin and others!” said the soldier, grabbing the Comtesse.

Charlotte and Athos approached.

“You said she wasn’t here,” accused Athos.

“You said you hadn’t seen her since the accident!” added Charlotte.

“She begged me not to tell anyone!” explained Ninon, “Please, make them stop!”

Charlotte reached out to her but was stopped by Aramis, who hugged her tightly. She gripped him tight, blinking back tears.

“I’m sorry,” said Athos, “We can’t.”


	9. Chapter 9

Charlotte barely slept that night. When her uncle informed her of Nino’s trial and the accusations against her friend, her heart sank. Of all people, she knew what it was like to be regarded as unnatural for her gender, as peculiar, and sometimes even as blasphemous. Breaking from societal norms did not endear herself to priests, in particular, who thrived on maintaining a stringent social order, and now Ninon had fallen prey to them. They knew women like her endangered their control over people and sought to eradicate whatever threat they found. With the Cardinal’s greed steering their hand, they found a reason to vanquish their target and Charlotte was angry. She knew the Cardinal was not a good man, but she never thought he would kill an innocent woman, fabricating false charges, simply to take her fortune. 

Angrily, Charlotte finished dressing, tugging harshly on the strings of her blouse. When they would not tuck into her jacket, she let out a frustrated noise and kicked the stool beside her bed. Slamming the door to her room, she stalked to her uncle’s office, entering and sitting in the chairs by his desk. Warily, she looked around, eyeing her three friends and her uncle.

“What?” they snapped their eyes away when she barked at them, which she ignored with a roll of her eyes, “If you’re all done with…” she narrowed her eyes at them, “Whatever you were doing, can we go? We’ll miss Ninon’s trial.” 

Treville cleared his throat, standing from his desk and walking around to lean against the side, “I need to speak with you about that.”

“What about it?” her hackles raised.

“You won’t be going,” at Treville’s words, Charlotte’s head snapped up and her lips thinned out in a frown.

“You’re going to stop me, are you?” 

“If we must,” Athos stepped forward. 

Charlotte stood up, knocking over the chair and turning to face him. Charging him, she pushed him, hard, shoving him against the wall and grabbing the lapels of his jacket.

“Charlotte!” Treville snapped.

“If this was a man, you wouldn’t stop me!” she yelled at him, “If I was a man, you wouldn’t stop me!”

“C’mon Char,” Aramis laid a hand on her shoulder, which she violently threw off, “Just listen.”

“No, you fucking listen. She is being tried for witchcraft!” she shook him, “D’you know the sentence for that? Huh?” she shook him again, “Burning! I can help her, and you’d rather I sit here and do nothing?!”

“For good reason,” Athos gently grabbed her hands, stilling them, “You could be implicated as an accomplice.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Think, Charlotte, think!” Treville grabbed her shoulder roughly, turning her to face him, “You helped Ninon teach those girls. Worse even, you taught them combat!” this time, he shook her in a desperate bid for her to understand, “You’re just as likely to be targeted in this! Stay out of sight and pray no one thinks of you during this farce!”

“You’d have me abandon my friend, like a coward, to save my own skin!” she pushed him back, “I can testify, I could help her!”

“At best, your testimony will only incriminate her further,” Athos stared at her with unyielding eyes, “At worst, you’ll be labeled an accomplice. You are a woman that openly wears trousers and carries weapons, you go against their natural order. Your presence will only hinder her defense and needlessly endanger yourself.”

“He’s right,” Aramis called out from behind her, “This is no longer just the Cardinal. The presence of the Jesuit priest means the church is involved. Please,” he shoved her uncle out of the way, taking her hands in his and pressing a kiss to them, “Please, Charlotte, for yourself, for Ninon, and for us, stay here and stay safe.”

Ripping her hands out of his, she stepped back, eyeing them all angrily, “You would not let anything stop you from helping your friends,” her eyes flickered to Athos, “Your family.” 

“We were afraid you’d say that,” Aramis sighed heavily, in anticipation almost. 

Charlotte knew that tone, knew what was to follow. They had taught her too well. Punching Aramis in the stomach, she pivoted, pushing him into Athos as he hunched over from the blow. Using the moment of surprise, she swiped out her uncle’s feet from underneath him, knocking him in the back with her elbow as he went down. Sprinting, she took off, running out the door. Behind her, Athos and Porthos ran to follow. They were a moment behind her and she knew they’d outrun her, so she, instead of going for the stairs, she hopped the fence in front of her uncle’s office. Using the stance Porthos taught her to ease her landing, she touched down on the table below, using it and her momentum to hop onto the ground into a roll. Coming out of her roll, she took off, sprinting toward the gate. Just as she cleared it, she felt great big arms wrap around her, trapping her arms at her side and heaving her into the air. Damn, she should have noticed that Porthos was absent from their confrontation. 

“No! Let go, you can’t do this! She’s my friend!” 

“I know Char,” Porthos whispered, wrangling her as she flailed and kicked out.

“Oh, thank god, he caught her,” she heard Treville mutter behind her.

Porthos turned, carrying her over to where the three men were panting. 

“Told you we needed a backup plan,” said Aramis, leaning back with his hands on his back, “Fuck, she punches hard.”

“I’ll punch you again if you don’t let me go!” she kicked out.

“It’s for your own good,” Athos reasoned, reaching out a hand to settle her. She flung out a kick towards him.

“Fuck you!” 

“Charlotte D’Artagnan!” Treville scolded, “We will help your friend. But we can’t do that if we’re too preoccupied worried about you!” 

“We’ll help Ninon,” Porthos agreed as he carried her up the stairs. In response, she squirmed and kicked out, trying to catch the railing to unbalance him. ”A little help!”

“Can’t carry a lady, Porthos?” Aramis taunted as he and Athos moved to help him. 

“Grab her legs,” Athos ordered, then swore as Charlotte almost sent them tumbling down the stairs, “Charlotte, stop this!”

“Let go!” she shouted at him.

“Good lord,” Aramis muttered, reaching to secure her flailing legs. As he approached, she kicked him across the jaw, slamming him into the railing, “I think we’ve taught her too well,” he rubbed his jaw gingerly. 

Porthos snorted as he and Athos secured their female friend. Together, they carried her up, making their way to her room. Treville followed, sighing. 

“Please don’t do this!” her pleas made Porthos wince, as did the tears running down her face, “She’s my friend, she needs me, please!”

Kicking the door open, the two entered her room. Athos dropped her legs, narrowly dodging a kick. He joined Treville and Aramis at the door. Porthos dumped her on the bed, running to the door while she reoriented herself and shutting it quickly before Treville locked it. Loud pounding and her frustrated shouts echoed in the courtyard.

“Please, don’t do this!” they heard her beg through the door, “What if it was me?”

“That’s why we can’t let you go,” Porthos responded, “We couldn’t bare it if it was.”

“She needs help!” the pounding softened and eventually stopped, but they heard her lean against the door.

“We’ll help her,” Athos promised, “The Cardinal won’t get away with this. He has no proof.”

“…Don’t let her be alone,” Charlotte’s voice dropped into a whisper, “If they burn her, don’t let her die alone.”

“It won’t get to that,” Aramis interrupted, “We won’t let it.”

“I don’t know that I’ll forgive you for this.” That came out like a solemn promise.

“You’ll be alive for us to beg you for it,” Athos justified.

Silence from the room. Porthos sighed. “I don’t like doing this.”

“We had to,” Treville nodded at the door, “For her.”

“This isn’t fair,” Porthos added.

“No, it’s not,” Aramis agreed.

“But we can’t control others,” Aramis chimed in as the voice of reason, “Until our society changes, we can only protect Charlotte from others’ prejudice.”

“Go,” Treville nodded at them, “I’ll stand guard.” 

The three nodded. As they moved to leave, Athos paused. He leaned against the door.

“I promise, I’ll won’t let her die. You have my word.” Silence followed.

“I’ll hold you to that,” came the quiet reply. 

At Treville’s nod, and slightly narrowed eyes, Athos followed his friends. Sighing again, Treville leaned his back against the door, sliding down into a sitting position. He bent a knee, leaning his arm against it, exactly mirroring the girl locked in her room. 

“He threatened you,” Treville confessed, banging his head back on the door.

“Who did?”

“That Jesuit priest,” he calling to mind the priest, “That foul, sanctimonious little man.”

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t mention you by name, though I think that’s only because he didn’t know it. He said Satan and his female familiars are all around us. Utter nonsense,” Treville stared at the ground, remembering the conversation with the king and the cardinal, “Said he was shocked to see a woman in trousers carrying a sword so near the royal couple, then to hear about Ninon. Said it was sacrilegious that you hadn’t been wiped and disciplined, offered to do it for us,” he scoffed, “Even the cardinal was taken aback.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t be accusing women of witchcraft for the sake of lining the royal treasury.”

“Is that his plot?”

“Must be,” he heard her boots scrape as she shifted her legs, “He doesn’t believe in witchcraft. Any wealth he seizes under that charge will be claimed by the crown,” he heard her pick at a splinter in the door, “He told me about some of the laws, once.”

“He’s not a good man, Charlotte.”

“Funnily enough, I figured that out for myself,” she paused, “He’s not completely wrong. Sometimes good and law do not align. I’ve bent the law before. Broken it, even. Would you accept me even then?”

“You’re my daughter in all but blood,” he answered, confidently, “Nothing will ever make me turn you away,” he laughed, “I might rip into you, though, if it’s warranted.”

She laughed, “That’s fair.” Silence.

“Not going to try the window?”

“I already did. I didn’t fit,” she admitted grudgingly. He laughed. “Shut up.”

Athos, Aramis, and Porthos arrived at the Monastery of the Holy Cross, the location of Ninon’s trial. Dismounting, they handed their horses to a stable hand, discussing the Comtesse and her upcoming trial.

“Why is she being tried here?” asked Porthos.

“The Cardinal wants to avoid a public hearing,” explained Aramis sarcastically, “Someone might take issue with his plot.”

“Does anyone really believe in witchcraft? It’s ridiculous,” scoffed Porthos. 

“The accusation is a fine way to stop the tongues of outspoken women,” said Aramis, angry, “You heard Treville. It didn’t take long for them to start sniffing around D’Artagnan.”

“She had the girls. She lied. She should have told us what was going on,” interrupted Athos as they gathered together.

“You’re being too hard on her,” countered Aramis, “Charlotte would not appreciate it.”

“She was protecting the girls,” argued Porthos, “You heard Fleur with Constance, what awaited her. Can you blame her for wanting more out of life? Would you want that for Charlotte?”

“Porthos is right. She was protecting them, not deceiving us,” Aramis narrowed his eyes at his friend, “Or deceiving you,” Athos glared at Aramis for his comment, turning and walking toward the entrance of the building, “I bet you Charlotte at least suspected and didn’t tell us.” 

That made Athos’ frown deepened.

“You promised D’Artagnan you’d help Ninon,” reminded Porthos. Athos waved them off. “Why’d you have to go and say that,” Porthos sighed, “I got ‘im,” he followed the grumpy man shaking his head.

Turning, Aramis spotted the Comtesse being escorted by a guard into the trial chamber. 

“For what it’s worth, Madame, this trial is a mockery of religion,” Aramis raised a hand to stop the guard and push him away from her, “The God I believe in stands for love, not cruelty.”

“You are a contradiction, Monsieur Aramis,” responded Ninon in a soft voice, face distressed, “The soldier who preaches love and a famous libertine who cherishes women.”

He took off his hat. “We all search for truth in different ways.” He pulled out his crucifix, “If you have faith in your heart, take this,” he removed it from his neck, handing it to her, “My God will not abandon you.” 

She looked down at the small cross, letting a few tears fall. “But will my friends?”

Aramis recoiled, shocked. “Madame?”

“Charlotte was not with you,” she stated, her voice clouded with sadness, “Would she have me face this alone?”

“She would not. She wanted to come,” he comforted, grasping her arm, “We would not allow it. Didn’t go quietly,” he pointed to the bruise on his jaw, “Fought hard, but,” he lowered his voice, moving closer to whisper in her ears, “We love her too dearly to let her so close to this, not when it targets her as well.”

“Her too? Have they arrested her?”

“No, they have no way to, unless she involves herself in your trial,” he winced in apology, “They may claim her as your accomplice. I’m sorry, we would not risk it.”

Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Two rebellious women for the price of one.”

“Exactly,” he grinned slightly, hoping to comfort her, “She was furious when we locked her in her room. Her uncle is standing guard. You had a fierce warrior as your protector. She charged us to look after you in her stead.”

Looking to the hand he had on her arm, she raised her own to cover it, squeezing lightly. “Thank you, Monsieur, for keeping her safe. Help her forgive herself, when this is over.”

“Always, Madame.” The guard took Ninon’s arm roughly, pushing her through and into the building. 

“D’you think it’s still going on?” Charlotte’s question pierced the silence that had settled for several hours.

“I don’t know,” Treville answered honestly, rolling to the open railing to peak at the gate. He spotted three horses entering the courtyard, “Wait, they’re returning.” He stood, turning and unlocking her door.

“Finally,” she muttered. When the door finally opened, she stood with her arms crossed and red eyes.

“You’ve got a look in your eye.”

“I thought about punching you as soon as you opened the door,” she gripped, uncrossing her arms and walking past him.

“Thought better of it?” He followed her down the stairs.

Reluctantly, she answered, “You were right. I would have made it worse.” 

“No thank you? Or apology? You still nailed me in the back. You gave Aramis quite the bruise.”

“Don’t push it,” they approached the three Musketeers handing off their horses to the stable hand, “What happened?”

Aramis, covered in charcoal, sighed, “We need to find Fleur Baudin. We’ll catch you up on the way.”

“I’m allowed out of my cage now?” came the snarky reply as she followed them.

“Is she?” Treville stopped them, eyeing them warily.

“The Comtesse was found guilty,” Charlotte gasped, grasping onto her uncle’s arm to steady herself, “But the king and queen intervened. She will not die unless she confesses to her crimes freely and without the influence of torture,” explained Athos.

“And in a bizarre twist of events, the Cardinal was poisoned and almost died,” Aramis interrupted, jabbing a finger at the gate, “So if we can get a move on…?”

“Poisoned?” she asked, confused, before narrowing her eyes, “Wait, and you think Fleur had something to do with it? That’s absurd!”

“It happened right after he drank water,” defended Aramis.

“Water she had just drunk? That’s far too fast for poison and you know it! It takes longer for it to get into the system!” she snapped, “You know that, you’re a healer.”

Aramis paused, considering, “She’s right. It couldn’t have been Fleur, it was too fast.”

“But maybe she knows something?” Porthos added.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It must have happened before the trial,” Athos looked up at Charlotte’s comment, an idea coming to him.

“We need to go to the morgue,” he instructed, “We need to check the bag that was stolen from Father Sestini.”

Charlotte turned to her uncle, eyes pleading to let her accompany them, “I’m sorry, but no. You stay here.” He could see her eyes grow angry.

“Agreed,” Porthos swung an arm around Charlotte, hugging her to his side, “You gotta’ listen to him, D’Artagnan,” he said, “Sestini mentioned you by name this time.”

“He threatened her?” Treville snapped, anger on his face as Athos nodded, “When?”

“After the Cardinal was poisoned. He said he would pray for Richelieu’s soul and that he was leaving for Rome the following day,” explained Athos, face set in a grimace, “Said Paris was not a place for pious men, with witches running unchecked. Said he was shocked to hear Treville harbored one under his roof, that he would rectify the situation if you did not.”

“Implied she had bewitched you, that we should kill her to break her enchantment over you,” Aramis was clearly angry at the man.

“Don’t fight us on this,” Athos requested, “Better you stay away from this. Everyone knew you and Ninon were friends. It may implicate others,” he gazed at her, landing his point, “Think of Constance.”

That stopped Charlotte short. She looked up, blinking away tears. “You think they’d go after her?”

“We can’t say they won’t,” answered Athos.

She nodded, “Fine,” she squeezed Porthos arm and removed it from her shoulders, “While I’m useless and confined to my room, I’m trusting you with Ninon’s safety, then.” Turning, she made her way back to her room.

They winced when they heard the door slam. “That was underhanded,” scolded Aramis.

“It worked,” snapped Athos, “We have work to do.”

“This is the Cardinal; why the rush?” added Porthos, sighing when the other two left him behind. 

Treville watched as the three went off. He made his way up the stairs, rounding to his niece’s room. Knocking, he let himself in. “Shall we go to dinner?” 

He looked up, finding the room empty. Cursing, he ran out. As he slammed the door, Charlotte peaked out from the shadows next to her room, watching as he ran past the gates to catch her friends. Taking advantage of his distraction, she ran to the stables, saddling her mare and leading her out of the garrison through the back. 

Mounting, she rode until she reached the monastery, shocked when she saw a pillar being built. As she hopped off, she handed the reins to a stable boy, asking a guard to point her to the prison bellow. Finally, she found Ninon’s cell, troubled to see her friend in a simple shift.

“Ninon!” she reached for the bars. Her friend reached out, covering her hands with her own, “What is going on?”

“I,” Ninon gulped, “I confessed.”

“What?! Why!” she grabbed her friend’s shoulders, “What possessed you?!”

“She threatened you.”

“Who?” 

“Madame de la Chapelle,” Ninon let a few tears fall, “She said the Cardinal would go after you and the other ladies of our school if I did not confess,” she gripped Charlotte’s upper arms, “She is not who she says she is! Athos recognized her during the trial, when she testified against me.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened in shock. “I am going to get you out of here.” 

Ninon shook her head, stopping Charlotte’s hands as she tried to move toward the guard, “No. I will not endanger you. This is my own doing. I lied to you about Fleur. Foolishly,” she bit her lip, “You would have helped me”

“I would have,” Charlotte confirmed, “We could have figured out a plan together! Why didn’t you tell me!”

“I don’t know,” confessed Ninon, “I saw you with your Musketeers and I just… I don’t know, I hesitated.”

“Oh Ninon,” Charlotte gently grabbed her friend’s head, tilting it so they could touch foreheads, “If you won’t let me help you, I’ll find some other way,” her gaze went to the ceiling thoughtfully, “The Cardinal.”

Ninon’s eyes widened, “Don’t be foolish!”

“He is here, recovering. I will make him revoke the sentence.” She swirled away from the bars, climbing the staircase out of the cells.

“Don’t! Charlotte, come back!” Ninon stared helplessly as her friend left.

Charlotte strode through the monastery, skirting past a group of monks as she made her way through the hallways. Curiously, she spotted a monk breaking away from the group. She hid behind a pillar, trailing after him as he turned a corner and entered a room. Quietly, at a more sedate pace to not arouse suspicion, she followed. 

Opening the door gently, she silently padded into the room, springing into action when she saw the Cardinal grappling with the monk, knife in hand. Richelieu reached to his nightstand, grabbing a fork and stabbing his would-be killer. Launching into action, she grabbed the monk and pulled him off the Cardinal, dodging a swipe of his dagger. 

“You!” Father Sestini bitterly spit out, leveling the dagger at her, “You abomination! I will do God’s work, ending your sacrilegious life, then Richelieu’s.”

He attacked again, but she continued dodging, dancing out of the way of his knife, searching for an opening to turn the weapon against him. When he overstepped in a lunge, she turned his arm around, pushing it and the knife downward to plunge it into his chest. As she did, Athos, Aramis, and Porthos burst through the door, panting in obvious exertion. 

“You’re late!” The Cardinal snapped at them, taking off the covers of his bed.

“We’re glad to find you well, Your Eminence,” snarked Athos, turning to pull Charlotte close to check her over for wounds.

“I doubt that,” he struggled to stand, “But thank you for the sentiment.”

“It was Sestini,” Athos looked at Charlotte at her comment, “The poison?”

“A sacred relic soaked with poison,” the cardinal lifted a cloth off a bone in a box, “An old papal trick. I should have guessed earlier.”

Aramis motioned outside, “We’re running out of time!” At Charlotte’s panicked look, he added, “They were leading Ninon out to the pyre when we ran in.” 

Charlotte turned to the cardinal, kneeling, “You don’t need to kill her,” she looked at him straight in the eye, waving Aramis away when he tried to grab her, “Please.”

The Cardinal stared at the girl coldly, examining her. “You can have everything you want and still let her go free,” added Athos.

“This is all very Dark Ages,” began the cardinal, prompting Aramis and Porthos to roll their eyes, “A glimpse of your own mortality does make one rather less eager to hurry others to their doom,” he turned to look at Charlotte, “I’m not a cruel man, just a practical one. What do you propose?”

She turned to Athos for help. He nodded. Once they were agreed, all four took off running. 

“Stop!” Charlotte sprinted, jumping onto the pyre and using a knife to cut the ropes off her friend’s hands. When a guard tried to stop her, Athos’ voice pierced the air.

“The sentence was commuted!” he shouted, pushing back the guards with torches as Aramis and Porthos moved the packs of sticks out of the way to prevent the fire from spreading. 

Charlotte caught her friend, hugging her tightly. “I will not die today?” asked Ninon.

No, my friend,” Charlotte wiped tears off her eyes and Ninon’s, “Not today.” She helped the Comtesse down the steps, distributing her weight with Athos’ help.

Ninon took Aramis’ hand. “Your God did not abandon me after all.”

As they stood in front of the Cardinal, listening to him explain their arrangement to Ninon, Charlotte felt her teeth grind together in anger at the man in front of her. He targeted an innocent woman, implicated her in a terrible scheme to kill her, all to secure her fortune. Athos nudged her, nodding at her to stop glaring at Richelieu so ardently, but she could not. As they turned to leave, the Cardinal stopped her.

“Charlotte, a word before you go,” he ordered. Charlotte turned, nodding at them.

“We’ll be right outside,” Porthos’ words were meant as a reassurance to her and a warning to the cardinal.

Charlotte squared her shoulders, the relief of her friend’s survival finally allowing her to lift them without feeling a tremendous pressure. She watched as the man gazed out the window, studying the dawn’s early rays of sunshine.

“Today I find my vision clearer than ever,” the cardinal turned, looking at her, “Nothing, no person, no nation, no God, will stand in my way.”

“I noticed,” she snapped, anger making her fidget.

“You disapprove of my methods, I am aware,” his voice took on a condescending tone she was familiar with, “But will you still condemn them when I use Ninon’s money to pay for additional guards to protect the queen and king and the stop an assassination attempt? When I use it to buy food for the people during a poor harvest? Like I said, I am a practical man.”

“You can be practical and ethical,” she spat out, clenching her hands into tight fists, “You don’t need to target innocents.”

“There will always be casualties.”

“They stop being casualties when you turn them into victims,” she accused, “You crossed the line.”

“Ah, good” he smiled proudly, “You’ve drawn your line. That’s how it starts, you know. You do what you have to, set a boundary you swear never to cross,” he joined his hands behind his back, observing her, “And then, under the right set of circumstances, you do. You’re not so different from me, after all.”

“I am nothing like you,” even the thought incensed her, “I don’t target innocent people.”

“Not yet,” he said, crossing his arms as he gazed at her, “But one day, when you have power and lives in your hands, you’ll weigh out the scales. You’ll see, some lives will weigh heavier than others.”

“If that day ever comes,” she started, “Then I will remember this moment, and my promise to never,” she snarled, “Turn into you.”

“Ah, my dear,” he kept smiling, looking proud, “We shall see about that. You have potential to be great!”

“Unless I become one of your casualties,” she glared, trying to find a way to wound him like she was wounding her, “Like I almost did today.”

He rolled his eyes, waving her off with his hand, “Don’t be silly. I would not have allowed Sestini to touch you.”

“Yes, you would,” she accused, “If it benefitted you or your plans, you wouldn’t hesitate.”

“Your opinion of me has changed drastically in so little time,” he drawled, amused.

“You earned it.”

“Did I?” he grinned wide, resembling a shark, “Or did you come too close to a mirror and disliked the reflection?”

“That doesn’t deign an answer.”

“You’ll see,” he waged a finger at her, “One day, you’ll outgrow your precious Musketeers. You’ll go one step too far, and they’ll abandon you. Then, I’ll welcome you with open arms.”

“That will never happen.”

“We shall see.” She turned so fast, slamming the door behind her.

“What happened?” Porthos looked at her in concern. She shook her head.

“Nothing, where is Ninon?” he nodded over to where Ninon stood with Athos and Aramis. “Let’s go.” 

The group rode through the forest on the outskirts of Paris. Ninon gripped Charlotte tightly around the waist, feeling unsure on horseback. Charlotte squeezed her friend’s hand in reassurance, easing the horse into a slower gallop. They reached the meeting point, spying the wagon amongst the trees. Slowly coming to a stop, they dismounted. One by one, Ninon wished farewell to Aramis, returning his crucifix necklace, then to Porthos, hugging the large man in thanks. When it came to Charlotte, the two women exchanged a tight hug. 

“What will you do now?” asked Charlotte.

“I think I will open up a school,” revealed Ninon, smiling gently, “For the daughters of the poor.” 

“It will suit you,” Charlotte returned the smile, “But I will miss you.”

“I shall enjoy being a teacher,” Ninon’s smile turned sad, “But I will miss you as well, my dear friend.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” Charlotte started, “For everything you’ve done for me.”

“What we’ve done for each other,” corrected Ninon, taking her friend’s hands.

“No, Ninon, I’ve always been ashamed of my oddity, but you changed that,” Charlotte wiped tears away, “Thank you for teaching how to accept myself.”

“Happily. Your uniqueness is to be treasured,” Ninon gently cradled Charlotte’s face, “And thank you for teaching me humility.”

The two hugged again. “Be safe,” whispered Charlotte. When they separated, Athos offered his arm to the former Comtesse, while Porthos opened an arm to receive Charlotte in a hug. The two women parted, waving at each other through watery smiles. As Athos escorted Ninon to the wagon, he asked a question of his own.

“Madame de la Chapelle,” he began, “Did she ever tell you anything about herself?”

Ninon turned to him, clearly remembering his outburst during her trial. “Now that I think of it, very little. So, you did know her, after all?”

“In another time, in another life,” he admitted. 

Ninon spared a glance back to Charlotte, before turning back to Athos, “Be careful, Athos. She has the cardinal’s protection. A blow against her is a blow against him, and he won’t take it lightly,” she cradled his sheet and turned him to look at Charlotte, where she was curled against Porthos as she stifled tears, Aramis trying to cheer her up, “And you have something precious to protect.”

He nodded, “She won’t like hearing you say that.”

“She protects you as well,” Ninon answered slyly back, “Don’t let your past ruin a future with her. You both deserve to be happy.”

“She deserves better.”

She sighed. “You are unfair to yourself. I could have loved a man like you, easily, had your heart not been already won. I can see why she loves you.”

“It’s a pity neither of us are the marrying kind,” he replied, smiling gently.

“You are,” she confirmed, smiling and tilting her head in thought, “With her, I think you are.”

She moved, climbing onto the wagon. Athos helped her, offering his hand. Once she was settled, she turned her head towards him one final time.

“Take care of her,” she looked back, “She is my dearest friend.” At his nod, she departed. 

He walked back to his friends. “That took a while,” Aramis muttered to him, eyeing him shrewdly.

“She had words for me, about…” he motioned to Charlotte with his chin. 

Realization dawned in Aramis’ eyes. “Maybe you’ll finally listen to her. Lord knows you’ve ignored me.”

“What’s he ignored you for?” asked Charlotte, still curled into Porthos’ side.

“Don’t worry about it,” Athos interrupted her though, pulling her from Porthos and hugging her tightly, “Let’s go home, shall we?”


	10. Chapter 10

Charlotte stared at her ceiling in the darkness of her rooms. Grief at Ninon’s fate still ate at her, as did anger at bring separated from her friend for one man’s greed. Betrayal ate at her, clouding her judgment. At every turn, she felt like the city shunned her presence. It began with her father’s death, which remained unavenged. The latest calamity, the Comtesse’s exile, left a bitter taste in her mouth. After almost a year in the city, she fought and bled for its well-being, but it seemed it and its citizens spit back in her face. As she lay on her bed, legs propped up against the wall above her pillow, she contemplated her place there. 

Her ambition to become a Musketeer seemed to be an unattainable dream. Treville discouraged her plan. As the captain, his lack of approval assured she would not get a commission from him. The king’s flippant, childish behavior made it unlikely he would care enough to intervene, even for someone who saved his life. Charlotte wondered if the queen could give her a commission, but discarded the thought. Inevitably, her thoughts led her back to her father’s death and the lead that ran cold when the Red Guard soldier, Dujon, left Paris on an assignment for the Cardinal. The thought made her frown more deeply. 

The Cardinal’s words troubled her. To a certain degree, she knew he was right; she had seen it, with her friends and with her uncle. She had a darker side to her, one that bent the law and was willing to take risks others were not. It was why she defended the Cardinal for so long. Now, after his actions toward Ninon and the several other plots she had helped her friends foil, she worried when she too, would cross the line she set for herself. Charlotte was so preoccupied with her thoughts that when a knock resounded from her door, she ignored it. The door opened, revealing Athos. The older man walked across to reach the woman, sitting on the bed.

“Thinking?” he asked. At her nod, he nudged her, “Make room for me.”

She squirmed, worming her way closer to the wall framing her bed. He lay his head on her pillow, next to where her legs were propped against the wall. “That can’t be comfortable.”

“It is,” she murmured, “Helps me think.”

“Because the blood rushes to your head?”

“Maybe,” she answered distractedly.

“That wall seems rather bare.”

“It’s a wall.”

“Aye, true, just a place to stare while you think. Still, some decoration might stimulate your thoughts,” silence, “Ninon?” She nodded. “Feel like sharing?”

“It’s not fair.”

“It’s not. Life isn’t fair, but you know that.”

“Maybe I’m just brooding, taking a page out of your book.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. It’s not like you.”

Charlotte hesitated, then admitted, “The Cardinal said something.”

“I remember.” He left it at that, hoping to let her speak her piece. 

“I called him dishonorable, said his actions, no matter the motive, were wrong,” he swallowed, avoiding eye contact with Athos, “I said he crossed a line. He told me I would cross it one day, under the right circumstances.”

“He’s a manipulative, cunning man.”

“I’m worried he’s right,” she whispered, confessing her fear, “The more injustice we face, the more I grow tired of upholding laws that just don’t seem to work or benefit good people. What if I keep pushing that line back until I can’t recognize myself?”

“Say, for one moment, that I would entertain this line of thinking,” he pushed her leg, “Because I find it ridiculous. But say I’ll entertain it for a moment. Why would you?” 

“Become a manipulative, greedy woman?”

“Move your moral line.”

“Who knows,” she sighed, “In the right set of circumstances? Maybe I’ll claim the ends justify the means.”

“Are you trying to convince me?”

“I don’t know, Athos!” she threw her other pillow at him, launching it from behind her head at his.

“Sounds to me like you’re worrying over nothing,” he grabbed the pillow and launched it back, grinning at the startled noise she made when it collided with her face, “If it ever comes close to happening, you have us to serve as your conscience.”

“If you don’t turn your back on me in disgust. Not that I would blame you, if I became like him.”

“Don’t be foolish, we wouldn’t let that happen,” she sighed, “What has you in such a melancholy mood?”

Turning a sharp glare at him, she snapped, “Because the exile of one of my closest friends is not enough?” at his pointed look, she sighed again, “How about my father’s unavenged murder? Or my unattainable goal of becoming a Musketeer?”

“Your skills have room for improvement, I admit, but you’re too hard on yourself,” he earned a kick for his cheek, “What stands in the way of your commission?”

“All of Paris, apparently,” she grumbled, “The church, the cardinal, the king, my uncle… shall I continue?”

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Do you deny it?”

“No,” he was practical and he owed her honesty, “There are many obstacles in your way. I am glad to say, though,” he grinned down at her, “That you have many friends who support you.”

“That’s true,” Charlotte smiled up at the ceiling, “I am being ungrateful, forgetting about my friends.”

“As for your uncle,” at the topic, Athos reached down to grab her hand, bringing it to his chest to look at, “Give him time. He loves you. It’s hard for him to let you into danger. The life of a soldier for the woman he considers his daughter? It will take time to adjust to the thought.”

“Will he ever?”

“I think the process started already. He sends you on missions with us. Be patient.”

“You know, any man with my accomplishments would have received a commissioned months ago.”

“There’s that unfairness again.”

They lay in silence for a moment. “I have been rather… glum.” 

“Glum… dejected, miserable, sulky, grumpy…”

“Thank you,” she lightly smacked his chest with the hand laying on it.

“Porthos and Aramis are fretting like mother hens.”

“You aren’t?”

“Knew you needed some time,” he squeezed her hand again, “You’re allowed time to be angry at life’s unfairness, every now and then.”

Charlotte sat up, bending her knees and wrapping her arms around them. Resting her head on her knees, she looked at Athos’ face. “Thank you for understanding,” she smiled, “And thank you for listening.”

“Besides, I have news to cheer you up,” he grinned at the interested gleam in her eyes, “Guess who returned to Paris from their mysterious mission abroad last night?”

“No,” disbelief widened her eyes, but excitement sparkled in them just the same, “Dujon?”

He grinned and nodded, “Dujon. Porthos and Aramis caught him in the tavern, they’ve been interrogating him all morning. Shall we see what they’ve uncovered?” 

“So, who’s responsible?” Charlotte asked as Aramis and Porthos entered Treville’s office. Athos stood at the back of her chair, hand on the back and expression amused.

“Dujon had quite the tale to tell,” began Aramis, sauntering into the chair next to Charlotte, “And let me just say, he sang.”

Treville rolled his eyes, “Spit it out, we don’t need the theatrics.”

“He told us everything. It was the Captain of the Red Guards, Gaudet. He posed as Athos with his men as Musketeers to murder and rob civilians to frame the Musketeers. They killed Cornet and his men for the uniforms,” Porthos shared.

“Why Athos?” asked Charlotte.

“He’s well respected,” explained Treville, “Many in the regiment already whisper he will take my place as Captain when I retire. If their goal was to discredit the Musketeers, he would be a prime target.”

“Guess they never thought their attack on the king would be stopped by him,” Porthos chuckled, clapping Athos on the back.

“Guess not,” Athos grinned wearily, “Lucky for me.”

“Of all cowards in Paris!” Charlotte’s emotions swirled between indignant and angry, “I smashed his face into a table two days ago at the tavern!” Treville turned incredulous eyes at his niece, “… He accused me of cheating at cards!”

“And were you?” asked Treville.

Porthos cleared his throat. Charlotte made eye contact with him, reluctant to answer Treville because she anticipated a lecture aimed at the two of them. “Need to work on that,” grumbled Porthos.

“Anyway,” Charlotte tried to divert the conversation, “Did Dujon tell you where he is? If that imbecile isn’t drunk, then he’s never around.”

“Didn’t the Cardinal dismiss him?” asked Aramis.

“He did?” Charlotte asked, surprised.

“Don’t you keep track of the Red Guards you get into fights with?” Treville raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and shaking his head. 

“Not really,” Charlotte shrugged, “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll start now.”

“Anyway,” Athos nudged Charlotte’s shoulder in a tease as he passed her, “Did Dujon know where Gaudet was?”

“Aye,” Porthos nodded, “Apparently, he and some of the men kept the uniforms to continue their ploy, but opted to stay out of Paris after the last… confrontation.”

“So, where are they? Did he know?” asked Charlotte.

“He did, they kept in touch in case Dujon ever wanted to join up and leave the Red Guard,” Aramis finished, “They’re about a three-day ride outside of Paris.”

“Go, find them and arrest them,” Treville ordered. 

Porthos and Aramis nodded, leaving to carry out the orders, while Charlotte remained seated. She rested her head on her hand, leaning on the arm of the chair as she thought.

“What is it?” Athos looked at her curiously.

“It sounds like something the Cardinal would do,” she started, looking at the wall again, “Gaudet was the Cardinal’s man when this started. The ploy, obviously, did not work, but it may be possible Richelieu hatched it.”

“Hmmm,” Treville considered his niece’s words, sitting at his desk and running hand across his mustache, “Possibly.”

“What good could it do now, if it was true?” Charlotte asked her uncle.

“Bring him back alive, if you can. If he can confirm the Cardinal’s involvement, maybe we use that against him,” instructed Treville.

Charlotte and Athos nodded, turning to leave. “Be careful,” called out Treville, “Take your cloak!” 

Charlotte rolled her eyes, “Yes, Uncle Jean!” She yelled back as she turned away from the stairs and to her room to fetch said cloak.

“I will never get used to that,” Athos followed her, grinning that small, crooked smile.

“What? Callin’ him uncle? I do it so often, though,” she emerged with her sword strapped to her belt, her dagger at her back, her pistol at her hip, and her cloak around her shoulders.

“Uncle Jean,” Athos’ face twisted in distaste, “So odd.”

She chuckled, rolling her eyes at him, “How mature.”

“I’m not the one staring at walls in contemplation. Help you think, do they?”

“Walls? Seriously?” Porthos stared at the two as they caught up with him and Aramis, “Is the sun getting to you, lass?”

“Don’t worry, no one will care if your brain is addled. They already think you’re crazy,” Aramis teased as they mounted the horses the stable hands passed to them. 

“And you willingly spend your time with me. I think that says more about you than me,” Charlotte returned, laughing. 

Aramis made an affronted noise at the bellows of laughter Porthos and Athos let out. Charlotte chuckled as well. The four rode out, stopping for brief breaks to eat, sleep, and rest, eventually reaching some ruins. From the forest, they saw the light of camp fires and heard voices. 

“Tie the horses far enough where they won’t find them,” Athos ordered Aramis and Porthos, “D’Artagnan, help me scout.”

The four dispersed to complete their assigned duties. Once they reunited, the four sat behind a hill near their targets’ camp. Charlotte peaked over it once, spying a bridge and the man standing guard in front, as well as two others patrolling from their windows. 

“They’re patrolling all around,” said Athos, “I didn’t see any weak spots.”

“Me either,” she added.

“Did you get a count of how many?” asked Porthos.

“I think, between 15 and 20,” answered Charlotte, “You?” she turned to ask Athos.

“I would say 20,” he replied, “Not sure how we’ll get in, though.”

“And those odds are not in our favor,” added Porthos, “Do we ride to the garrison, get back-up?”

“They might be gone by the time we get back,” countered Aramis. They sat in silence for a moment.

“We need the element of surprise,” offered Charlotte, grinning, “I may have an idea.” She stood, unbuckling her cloak and wrapping it around her waist, “Give me your cloaks!”

“How is a skirt going to help?” asked Porthos, eyeing her wearily.

“It never hurt,” came Aramis’ cheeky reply.

“Just give it,” Charlotte grabbed them, adding them to her make-shift skirt. 

She fluffed them up, tying them at her waist with a belt. Satisfied, she took off her boots.

“Woah! What are you doing?” asked Porthos.

“Turn around,” she ordered. 

The three obeyed, offering disgruntled opinions on the matter. She ignored them, removing her trousers. Next, she considered her blouse, vest, bodice, and bindings. Deciding, Charlotte removed the blouse and vest, loosening the bodice and removing the bindings. Making a small pile of her clothes, she put on the vest, as it had a deeper neckline, and pushed her breasts up, allowing them to show through the vest. Spying Athos’ neck scarf and the sash at Aramis’ waist, she reached over and plucked them. Grabbing them, she tied the small scarf around her neck and wrapped the blue fabric around herself like a shawl. 

“Are you done?” asked Porthos.

“How do I look?” she asked, grinning widely. 

They turned. Aramis’ eyes widened in shock and his jaw dropped open. Porthos looked away, blushing. “What the hell are you wearing?!”

“It looks a bit…” Aramis closed his jaw with a click, “Indecent.”

“That’s the point,” Athos’s expression was difficult to decipher, like he was trying to hide his reaction. She could swear there was desire in his gaze though. 

“Exactly! Element of surprise, remember?” she revealed proudly.

“Smart,” Aramis praised, looking at her. Just as quickly, he looked up again, “But, does it have to be so indecent?”

“Aye, that vest is too much. Trade it for the bodice,” Porthos instructed, bending down to pick it up without looking at her, his face still red. 

She rolled her eyes. “I’m supposed to be a whore.”

“There’s lines we aren’t crossing! Trade it out, now,” Porthos’ sounded like a protective brother and it made her smile.

“Fine. But you can’t tell Treville I used the cloak he made me bring as a skirt to infiltrate an enemy camp as a prostitute,” she bargained, “Turn around.” They obeyed. “Hmmm, maybe I should put the blouse back on.”

Athos, assuming she was done, turned. Charlotte stood, her back to him but her profile on clear display, holding up her blouse up to consider it. He stared, drawn in by the flash of leg and clear sight of her shoulder. Seeing so much of her made his feelings resurface with a vengeance, reminding him that, amid the emotional attraction, there was a clear, physical element that drew him to her. Athos’ mouth ran dry and it fell slightly open. Porthos, uncomfortable and impatient, turned to look at Athos, punching his shoulder hard when he saw him staring. Athos turned quickly, looking guiltily to the side and avoiding Porthos’ glare. 

Charlotte did not notice their exchange, opting to layer the bodice over the vest. “How’s that?”

Porthos turned first, glaring at Athos fiercely. He shot his gaze quickly over to Charlotte, ready to avert his eyes if he saw too much skin showing. The bodice, with its higher neckline, satisfied his brotherly instincts. “Better.”

“Ah,” Aramis looked her up and down as he approached, lightly holding her shoulders, “Just whorish enough, I think, but one final touch.” He undid her braid and shook out her hair, fluffing it and sweeping it so it hung off her shoulder, “There.”

At the change, Athos felt his throat go dry. “It will do.”

“Not sure if I should feel insulted by that,” sassed Charlotte, “Shall we?” 

“We’ll follow slowly, once you have his attention,” said Athos. 

Slowly, she worked out how to walk without tripping or letting the cloaks shift completely to expose her leg. At the sight of her upper leg as it breached a slit in the skirt, Athos turned bright red and looked away. 

“Bloody thing,” she blustered, maneuvering the cloaks about. She pulled the bodice and vest up, pushing her breasts to show more, “Wish me luck.”

As she walked off, Porthos punched Athos in arm, hard. “Stop looking at her like that,” he hissed.

“Ow! Porthos!” Athos protested.

“He’s right,” Aramis muttered, stepping in front of Athos to block Charlotte, “You can’t stare at her like that and not act on your feelings. She’s either the love of your life,” his gaze narrowed, “Or your nothing. No in between.”

“You love her. It’s clear to see. We wish you happiness, but she deserves better than to be your,” Porthos waved his hand, cheeks red and clearly uncomfortable discussing Charlotte like this, “Your paramour. She deserves honor.”

“I would never dishonor her!” Athos objected, glaring at his brothers.

“Then either do something about your feelings,” Aramis’ hand gripped his shoulder tightly, “Or stare at her without that gleam of desire in your eye.” 

From their spot on the tree, they heard Charlotte approach the guard.

“Hello there,” she stuck a hand on her hip, trying to look enticing, “For fifty sous, I can take you to heaven.”

“Her flirting could use some work,” whispered Aramis. The three made their way closer to them, using the wagons and other broken artifacts to hide themselves as Charlotte distracted the man.

“What? Are you on of those religious nutcases?” asked the guard.

Charlotte huffed in frustration and Aramis bit back a laugh, “Never mind. Clearly,” she motioned to her clothing, “I’m a prostitute looking for a job,” she fingered his collar coyly, “You up for it, handsome?”

“That’s my girl,” Aramis whispered, laughing as Porthos choked and Athos glared jealously at the man.

“Hmmm,” the man made a considering noise, “Five sous?”

“Five?!” came her indignant voice, “What do you take me for?”

“Alright, ten!” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Twenty,” she countered.

“Fifteen, but no more!” the guard crossed his arms.

She groaned, “Fine,” she held out her hand expectantly. 

He wiggled excitedly as he pulled out his curse pouch, making her choke back a disgusted scoff. Slyly, she tugged back a slit on her skirt, pushing the fabric aside to show her leg as she hiked it onto the wooden railing behind her. Like a magnet, his eyes were glued on her leg. Taking advantage, she pulled the knife from the sheath on her back and plunged the blade up, into his chest. As he fell forward, a patrol man from the windows shouted down at them.

“Hey!”

“Oh fuck,” Charlotte balanced her exposed leg on the wooden railing behind the man, propping him up, “Oh fuck.”

Suddenly, Aramis was at her back, helping her support the guard’s weight. Chuckling, he raised the dead man’s arm, acting as if he was waving at his companion.

“I’m next!” came the call.

“Ew,” Charlotte gagged into Aramis’ arm, “Remind me never to do this again.”

“I’ll teach you to do it better,” said Aramis, laughing, “Fifteen sous? Shame on you!” She elbowed him, hard, in the ribs. “We need to work on your seduction technique. How will you seduce Athos with that?”

“Aramis,” she hissed, “Focus. And you better have brought my damn trousers!”

“I have them,” Athos appeared, “And your sword and pistol.”

Charlotte stopped herself from squealing in delight, but barely. After she slipped the trousers under the temporary skirt, they made their way into the camp. Slowly, they dispatched the patrolling guards and any men they wandered into, being careful to avoid being spotted. Eventually, they stopped behind the pillars, hiding. 

“I count fifteen, by the fires,” informed Porthos.

“Fifteen by my count as well,” added Charlotte.

“Slowly, then, with the maintain the element of surprise,” instructed Athos, “On my count. Porthos, Charlotte, wrap around this side,” he signaled to his right, to where pillars framed the camp, “Aramis and I will move straight forward.” 

They nodded and obeyed, moving silently and killing quietly. Despite their efforts, the men noticed their comrades’ silence and turned, spotting the moving Musketeers. 

“Musketeers!” came the alarm, and the fight began in earnest. Luckily, the men were no match for their skills, so they were able to dispatch them quickly.

“Gaudet!” called out Charlotte, trying to find the man. 

She spotted him, aiming a pistol at her. Ducking quickly to avoid the shot, she charged and tackled him. They grappled for a moment, each landing some blows to the other, before they managed to separate and find their swords. As she parried his blow, she thought back to her fight against this man over a year ago, and how much more difficult of an opponent she found him then. Now, after her sessions with Athos, she found it easy to disarm him, twirling her blade to flick his weapon out of his hand. The desire to fun him through to take her revenge sparked in her belly, but she resisted, turning to face her friends and smiling to see their defeated opponents. 

“D’Artagnan!” Porthos called out in alarm. 

Charlotte turned back to Gaudet, raising her sword to see him charging at her with a knife. Accidentally, she impaled him.

“Damn,” she muttered, removing her blade.

Porthos ran to check on her, scanning her when he reached her. “You good?”

“Yeah,” she huffed, kicking Gaudet’s dead body, “Now we won’t know if the Cardinal was involved!”

“We may,” Athos approached, wiping his sword on the jacket of a dead man, “We still have Dujon. He’s been arrested. With this evidence,” he motioned around them, “They’ll be a trial.”

“Unless he dies in prison first,” added Aramis, “And there’s really only one person we know with the power to do that.”

“So, we wait?” asked Charlotte incredulously.

“We wait,” confirmed Athos, grinning at her.

“And we celebrate!” Porthos hugged her, lifting her off the ground, “You’ve avenged your father!” 

The weight of that statement sunk in. Tears filled her eyes and she hugged Porthos tightly, letting a few droplets fall as she buried her face in his shoulder. When he set her down, she was passed to Aramis, who also claimed her for a tight hug.

“Very well done, petite soeur,” Aramis murmured, cupping her cheeks and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you, so much,” she blinked back the tears, smiling at them happily.

“We were happy to help,” Athos also hugged her, pressing a kiss into her temple.

“Should we throw a party? The lads will be right proud of her!” Porthos threw an arm around her shoulders, squeezing, but then took his hand off as if it burned him, averting his gaze and blushing, “But you’re changing out of these clothes first. There’s no way we’re letting anyone see you like that at the garrison.”

“Treville would kill us,” Aramis added, but then looked at her speculatively, “How did you fight dressed like that?”

“Not easily,” laughed Charlotte, “Let’s go, it’s bloody cold with my shoulders out like this!”

“That’s not the bit being out that I’m concerned with,” muttered Porthos, picking up a cloak as they walked back to their camp and dropping it on her shoulders. They all laughed.


End file.
